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Daily Doi^as, 



POEMS. 



BY 

LAMBERT OTT, M.D. 



5^ 






PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

1888. 



T5 2.^«1 
.04- 



Cop3^right, 1888, by Lambert Ott, M.D. 




PEEFACE. 



Most of these verses were composed at an early 
age. Of their merits or demerits I know nothing, 
as I have never shown them to the human eye. If 
they partake of life and live, God speed them. If 
they suffer a just death, peace be to their ashes. 

L. O. 

Philadelphia, June, 1888. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

My Mother's Death 7 

The Baker's Christmas 8 

The Old Neglected Mother 12 

Midnight in the Sick-Room 15 

The Rose and the Thorn 18 

All the World's a Stage 19 

Iridescent Man 20 

Love 20 

Love's Ramblings 22 

Sylvan Impressions ' ' 22 

I want a Pillow for my Grave 2;> 

The Marriage of Happiness nnd Home 2r) 

The Mother's Soldier-Son 29 

The Blistered Brain's Contagion 30 

Decoration Day 32 

The Tale of the Old Oak 33 

Cupid's Aid . 34 

Why Not? 35 

George Washington and the Revolution 36 

What does the Child see ? 39 

The Eyes 40 

Metrical Philosophy 42 

Impressions on Seeing an Old Oak Prone and Dead 47 

I saw Two Lovers unobserved 48 

A Tale 50 

Why does the Old Man look Down ? 52 

Genius and Madness ^'3 

A Rainy Night in the Country 54 

Happy Joe 56 

The Leaves and I 57 

Fallen Woman • • 59 

To the Idiotic Child 61 

To One Awaiting Death 62 

December 65 

What once was loved can never well be hated 66 

5 



Q CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

How strange fi7 

Solemn Revery fi7 

How I want to die 68 

When T am Dead 69 

U. S. Grant 71 

Each Girl should have a Friend 72 

A Daughter's Condolence to her Father ... 73 

A Friend's Monomania 74 

The Breathing Stair 75 

Post-Mortem Tears 80 

Day, I see a God in Tliee ! 80 

1 saw a Little Bird die 82 

Man and Animal 83 

What we should be 84 

Say Little or Nothing 84 

Man Various 85 

To Dr. C. M. B 86 

God and His Church 86 

To the Infidel 88 

The Old Slave 90 

My Mother's Missing 99 

Wealth 102 

Reelusion 103 

To an Ungrateful Daughter 103 

Mentis Purgatorius 106 

Obscurity 108 

To R. M 110 

The Two doctors " Ill 

Death of the Little Boy's Mother 117 

The Human Skull 122 

Home and Papa 124 

Look at my New Dress 126 

Moral Analysis 127 

A Solid Fact. 129 

The Soul 130 

Why should there be Pain? 130 

The Song of the Evening Bolls 131 

Introspection 133 



MY MOTHER'S DEATH: 

A VOICE is hushed, the gloomy night has spoken, 
Eternity has beckoned one good soul, 

And taken worlds of human love unbroken 
To link the golden chain at distant poles. 

An envious star, with gifts so very fatal. 

Had dropped through icy halls from off the sky. 

And cooled the blood that flows since hours natal. 
And froze the loving heart which had to die. 

This star was idle on that very night, 
And lulling devils in his wicked breast. 

Who then began within his brain to weave 
A chill that cooled my mother into rest. 

The moon saw in her virtue spotless white, 
And even hailed this evil frigid star. 

He on that awful night refused his light. 
Whereby he sought his progress to debar. 

7 



8 THE BAKER'S CHRISTMAS. 

His very flight and light was met and dazed 

By blackest clouds pouring their storms in night, 

To warm this chill and then compel his stay, 
For fear he would upon my mother light. 

His travel was of very rapid, rapid speed ; 

His goal, a soul the world loved very dear. 
He pawed the elements like a restless steed, 

And cast his ire so deadly and severe. 

O mother, you that bore me, nursed and bred me. 
Forever gone ! The thought would chill a god. 

You that have always loved, and loved and fed me. 
Though dead, yet memory knows you under the sod. 



THE BAKER'S CHRISTMAS. 

It was a sunny Christmas morning. 

When every eye seemed glowing bright; 

Their hearts with happiness were warming, 
Their steps were swift and gay and light. 

The day seemed unlike other days. 
Seemed lighted by a different beam, 



THE BAKER'S CHRISTMAS. 

As if the sun his inmost rays 

Had sent to earth with double gleam. 

Lovers were passing arm in arm, 
Telling their gifts in whispers sweet, 

Voicing their love in accents warm, 
Making the day ^' The question'' meet. 

One look into the window passing 
Reveals the tree hung full of toys, 

And little ones in bliss surpassing 
All others in their primal joys. 

Beneath this clear blue sky, where pleasure 
Was canopied by Christmas-day, 

I saw a cloud of woe in measure 
Sufficient deep to tune my lay. 

This house was small, two stories high. 
The sign of "Baker" 'bove the door. 

Two trees stood there to shade and sigh 
As ills were blown into this store.^ 

The cosey home had man and wife. 
Their little boy, three summers old, 

Who was their happiness and life; 
They loved him with a love untold. 



]Q THE BAKER'S CHRISTMAS. 

October taught the leaves to fall, 
October brought to this house grief. 

The mother to the final call 

Was summoned, — died of illness brief. 

This little household, — father, son, — 
Bereft of wife and mother's care. 

The child cried nightly, "Mamma, come! 
Come, mamma, come!'' — it rent the air, 

I heard him call, and left the room; 

My heart grew warm, my eyes grew moist. 
The father wept and fell a-swoon. 

Calling his God with lowered voice. 

Each night when sleep was near his soul 
He cried, " Mamma, put me to bed !" 

And looked around, but silence cold 
Seemed telling him that she was dead. 

For days and days he called each eve, 
Till, wearied, worn by constant wail. 

Sweet sleep her veil around him weaved 
Enclosing dreams while in her sail. 

As time will crumble massive rocks, 
So time cooled o'er this little heart ; 



THE BAKERS CHRISTMAS. H 

He played and rolled his wooden blocks, 
And soon forgot the wounding dart. 

Two months after his mother died, 
The Christmas-day was dry and chill, 

He fretted, suffered pain, and cried ; 
Unnoticed lay his toys, so ill. 

His head lay on his father's breast, 

His suffering great which made him cry. 

A sudden pain came in his chest, 

^' Mamma," he called, and then he died. 

And when about to breathe his last. 
He gazed up in his father's face, 

And saying, "Mamma, papa," and fast 
His eyes were closed in death's embrace. 

The father now forsaken, lone, 

His house changed to a silent tomb; 

All love as dead and cold as stone 
Now sepulchred within this room. 

Go see the father watch his child, 

So sweetly lying in his death. 
Go see the father grieving wild. 

Awaiting yet an unknown breath. 



12 THE OLD NEGLECTED MOTHER. ' 

You thousands merry, thousands gay ! 

The baker caught the drift of woe. 
But pause and think, next Christmas-day 

May let her sadness to you blow. 



THE OLD NEGLECTED MOTHER. 

You tell me, doctor, I must die; 

This is to me quite welcome news; 
And you may ask, how strangely, why ? 

'Tis not so strange if you all knew. 

I've run the years threescore and ten ; 

My husband died quite long ago; 
I've been a hermit lone since then ; 

I've lived with care, with pain and woe. 

Each morn since he is dead and gone 
The day has brought me trouble, toil ; 

Each night since he's with angels one 
The stinging slights my sleep despoil. 

He now is dead these ten long years; 

He took my happiness along; 
He left the children me to cheer, — 

They soon to others sung their songs. 



THE OLD NEGLECTED MOTHER. 13 

You told me just now I must die, 

I told you it was welcome news. 
In fewest words I'll tell you why, — 

In age my children colder grew. 

My children seven I have raised, — 
Three daughters and four healthy sons. 

The time they gave me happy praise 

Was in their youth, when all were young. 

I'm old and feeble in my limbs. 
My back is bent, my tread is slow; 

My children sprightly and so prim, 
Their love grows cool as moments go. 

My hair is white in unkempt locks, 
My skin is tanned and wrinkled deep. 

The many years that o'er me flocked 
Need furrows where to rest and weep. 

My children all are young and fair; 

Their skin is sleek and hair is curled ; 
There's not a nook of rest for Care : 

Where'er he sits he's quickly hurled. 

I live within this small square room. 
With bureau, bed, and chair, and light; 

2* 



14 THE OLD NEGLECTED MOTHER. 

The evenings long, no child to loom 
My life declining in its flight. 

Some married and have children, too, 
Which intertwines their love the more. 

Their aged mother now they woo 

As things that must be wooed and bore. 

One day my little grandchild came 
Alone, said, looking in my eyes, 

''Grandma, I've come to you the same 
As to my mamma when she cries.'' 

I saw the hand of God in that ; 

I saw a child of mine, years back ; 
I felt that this, the childish chat. 

Was ray child's love reflected back. 

Why should I live a longer life? 

Why should I have much longer woe? 
For me to stay's neglect and strife, 

To rest my soul I needs must go. 

I could enjoy a year or less 

Would my own children give relief, 

Immerse in love my loneliness. 

And print their kisses on my grief. 



MIDNIGHT IN THE SICK-ROOM. 15 

They come to me as one that must, 
And ask me, " Mother, are you well ?" 

Then haste away as wind the dust. 
Nor ask me if I lonesome dwell. 

If thus it is I am to live, 

Dear doctor, hasten this disease, 
To free my soul, and body give 

To earth, that I may have my ease. 

There is some comfort in the thought 
That death will end the body's pain. 

The parting ought to be as naught; 
What earth has lost will be our gain. 

Now, children, all good-by, at last 
Your father in heaven I will wed. 

The kisses that between us pass 

We'll drop as blessings on your heads. 



MIDNIGHT IN THE SICK-ROOM. 

I SAT one midnight in the sick-room ; 

Disease was ruling one poor soul 
As kings do men ; the rays of moon 

To give him light through lattice stole. 



1(5 MIDNIGHT IN THE SICK-ROOM. 

The burning taper flickered low, 

The stillness of the night was there; 

The sickened sufferer would then moan, 
Which tuned to silence mournful airs. 

The patient breathed a heavy sigh, 
The clock now gave the nightly toll ; 

'Twas pain upon a human sky, — 
Time sent the only loud condole. 

The patient moves, if seeking ease; 

He asks for drink in murmurs low; 
He opes his eyes, and then he sees 

The nursing love which lulls his woe. 

He sleeps, but moves his lips and hands. 
As if rash dreams pass through his brain ; 

He speaks, and now delirium ran 

From out this mind of dreams and pain. 

Though frantic from his sore distress, 

Some sparks of love through nature peep; 

He calls his wife his shepherdess. 

His child he names her loving sheep. 

Each move, each rustle of the sick. 
Awakes the watcher from his doze. 



MIDNIGHT IN THE SICK-ROOM. 17 

The gnawing mouse with rhythmic picks 
Now calms the ill one to repose. 

The night is fading Yore the morn, 
And sleep his restless soul allays ; 

And seems a joyous hope is borne 
Upon the first step of the day. 

The living sun now pulses day 

To warm the blood cooled by disease ; 

On flagging life his light he lay, 

And sends the weakened breath a breeze. 

The day is bright, the sun is high, 
The one so sick awakes from sleep 

With smiling face and brighter eye, 
A victor from the warring deep. 

Disease and Night are twin-born friends ; 

In darkness he seems best to revel ; 
With sunlight's peep he quick descends 

Into the earth, below the level. 



18 THE ROSE AND THE THORN. 



THE ROSE AND THE THORN. 

The Tliorn was jealous of the Rose 

Because she had admirers, 
And said, "You have your life and pose 

As long as I've the brier." 

The Rose looked down with haughty blush 

And eyed the saucy Thorn, 
And said, " You're made to prick and hush, 

Protect me, therefore, born." 

The Thorn, now angered at this taunt. 

Said, '' Yes, this may be true. 
The stem is made for both a haunt, 

I guard, and you the fool." 

The Rose, impassioned by this smite, 

Mistook the eve for morn ; 
Near kept an open house all night 

Till righted by the Thorn. 

The Rose, so shaken by this act. 
Let fall a dew-drop clear, 



ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. J 9 

Alighting on the Thorn's round back, 
Who took it for a tear. 

The Thorn looked up, the Rose looked down, 

Both with forgiving eyes; 
They loved and laughed until they found 

The Rose had soon to die. 



ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. 

And "all the world's a stage." This I believe. 

So God and angels are the auditors, 
Who, seated on horizon's verge, perceive 

Man, brute, and field, each other's monitor. 
They see all love most ])assionate and strong, 

Inanimate and animate and young, 
All linking in a universal song 

Of varied speech from nature's many tongues. 
The first act ends by leaving of the day ; 

The sable curtain night is now let fall ; 
Then ends the first scene of the world's own play ; 

Sleep is the interim's repairing hall. 
The morn arose and lifts the curtain night. 
The acting soon begins, the play's in sight. 



20 IRIDESCENT MAN, 



IRIDESCENT MAN. 

Some morns I wake and feel as if 
The heavens had now forsaken every one, 
And given all their happiness to me. 
On other morns — maybe the next — 
I feel and think that hell had heaved up heaven 
From off my head and sat riglit down himself. 
Thus in two worlds I flit and sleep, 
But when I'm in, I'm in them deep, 
Up to my neck, and brimming full of their 
Environments, until they show themselves 
In both my eyes, my face, in all my look, 
In every act, in all I do, all over me. 



LOVE. 



To be loved and a-loving 

Is the purest elation ; 
Gives the days rapid moving. 

Mind and heart changes station. 



LOVE. 21 

Put the brain 
In the heart, 
And the heart 
In the brain. 
Now the heart does the speaking, 
And the mind does the seeing. 
When the heart begins weakening, 
Then the mind does the fleeing. 
When senses are clashing 
Then Love is a-crashing. 
And lost his mind, 
Left heart behind. 

'Tis then Love lias no leader. 
And is now a poor heeder, 
Running riot and wild, 
As an untamed child. 

When, lo ! Understanding 
Comes safely to landing. 
Sends Mind to his dome. 
And Heart to her home; 
And Love slinks away 
To seek warmer days. 



99 LOVES RAMBLIXGS. 



LOVES RAMBLIXGS. 

Love loves to \:>e lost 

In his ramblings; 
To sip at the frost 
In his amblings; 
To watch young hearts while passing by, 

And just as eye is catching eye, 
Love hops ujx)n this new-made beam 
That runs between the eye and eye, 
And basks and quaffs until this stream 

Is boiling up and boiling high. 
If eye nears eye it cooks the more, 
If eye leaves eye he cools it o'er. 
Then Love is done and flits away, 
To try again some other day. 



SYLYAX IMPRESSIOXS. 

The woodman Is hewing the tree down to-day, — 
His dear little child is around him at play, — 
And now I can hear the old oak in his groans, 
As he in hLs falling his agony moans. 



His head then alights with a ihiui on the ground, 
His branches and twigs crack and click with a sound. 

The child and the father 'take of a repast. 

And she's soon asleep in his arms on the grass 

By the old giant oak that had jnst fallen prone. 

Xow all were asleep and yot wore not alone. 

As the shade of the tree, with the winds of the noon. 

Began in this silenc\? to wave and to croon. 

As if 'twere their purpose — allied as a team — 

To fain cany through these minds sweetest of dreams ; 

Have fancy in each soul a pure image draw 

Of father before child and she before her papa. 



1 W A X T A r 1 L L O W F O U .AL Y 
G K A V K. 

I WANr a pillow for mv orave. 

ril make it pertecr while I'm living: 
So that my soul will nothing crave, 

rU make it solt and cool and giving. 

I'll till it with my better thoughts. 

I'll fill it with my precious wishes; 
And witli atVcction the wit'e brought. 

Which in mv death will be her kisses. 



24 1 WANT A PILLOW FOR MY GRAVE. 

I'll fill it with my brother's cup, 
And with my father's tender care, 

And with my mother's loving toucli, 
To moist my lips and smooth my hair. 

I'll fill it with my sister's sweetness, 
And with ray child's affection dear, 

That he in rambling in his fleetness 
May stop to whisper loving cheer. 

I'll roll my wife's pure unctuous love 
Around this pillow for a slip; 

I'll deck the border with her hugs. 
Her virtue in the meshes knit. 

And now I've filled my pillow full 
With happy human's sweetest ties; 

I've taken the best that earth can give 
To ease my dying when I die. 

When I'm among the many dead 
And with this pillow for my head, 
Parents, family, wife, and child 
Can with me there the time beguile. 



THE MARRIAGE OF HAPPINESS AND HOME. 25 



THE MARRIAGE OF HAPPINESS 
AND HOME. 

The gods had finished building earth, 

And man some time had had his birth, 

When they at eve assembled 

To end the touches, emblems. 

" Ho, lo !'' a goddess cried, 

"A defect I have spied, — 

The marriage of Happiness and Home, 

So needed in the earthly domes. 

Has not been consummated.^' 

" Let us begin. 

So bring them in,'^ 
The gathered gods all cried. 
Soon Happiness, the bride. 
Appeared as a child, smiling proud. 
And seated on a cirrus cloud, 
With hands upon a kneeling lamb; 
Around them roses, lilies hang, — 
Shedding their sweets on innocence, — 
Exhaling their scent in reverence 
Upon the cloud supporting man, 
The gladdened groom, beside a ram 
Close seated, and eyes upon the child. 

3* 



26 THE MARRIAGE OF HAPPINESS AND HOME. 

Now face to face sat groom and bride, — 

The one as home, born pure, primeval, 

The bride as happiness coeval. 

They neared the gods upon their thrones 

Suspended in ethereal zone. 

The gods aloud in concord cried, 

" Have them in holy wedlock tied !" 

The god, the chieftain, thundering out. 

Spoke thus, "Fear not, nor me misdoubt. 

This union now shall be eternal, — 

A separation is infernal. 

Sweet Happiness, now marry Home, 

That home and happiness may roam 

In every crevice of the earth ; 

Attend and watch each human birth, 

And ever whisper whilst allying. 

Our wedded life is never dying. 
If home should be cold and cheerless with gloom, 
Then happiness, lost as the stars in the noon. 
Is left to the ocean of sadness and sorrow, 
Whose billows but bring thee the tears of to-morrow. 
And murmur the discord that rolls in its breast, 
And tells us that happiness without home is unblest. 
Tlie sheen of the moon is the bliss of the night. 
And goldens the earth with a silent delight. 
Let home be the satellite, now as the groom. 
And happiness lighting as the sun does the moon. 



rUE MARRIAGE OF HAPPINESS AND HOME. 27 

Tims pattern our heaven and copy our shrine, 
I'll bless thee forever with joy most divine." 
The nuptials done, the god de})arts, 
Leaving his halo to seal their hearts. 
A goddess fair steps down to say 
Words of advice while yet they stay, — 
'^ Oh, Home and Happiness made one, 
My blessing and those of the sun ! 
Remember, life without you two 
Is reft of rest and reaved of woo. 
Be simple, truthful, free from wrong, 
For gaud and glitter gleam not long. 
Unnatural's sparkle's beam is short. 
The plain and simple's nature's fort." 
The god, the chieftain, speaks, and calls 
The god of thunder from his halls. 
Commanding him to send the pair 
To earth on wavelets of the air. 
The day was leaving, darkness came, 
And twilight lit the solemn scene. 
A thunder, gently rumbling, rolling, 
Bereft of harm and most condoling. 
Seemed playing in the air so near 
To celebrate this signal year. 
When of a sudden sounds of hissing. 
As if the gods were all a-kissing. 
The child stepped over to the man, 



28 THE MARRIAGE OF HAPPINESS AND HOME. 

The ram ran over to the lamb. 
Then came a puff of whistling wind, 
And whimpering, whizzing a sweet din, 
Seeming to lift the bride and groom 
And wave them off in airy room, 
Seating the ram and lamb in fields 
Most rich in grass and shade and weal. 
The man and child near a cottage fell, 
Within a grove down in a dell; 
Met at the door a woman fair, 
Singing a song of beauty rare. 
Calling the child and father home, 
Wishing them not to farther roam. 
The doors are closed, the night has come, 
Sleep has them all, the two and one. 
Thus Happiness and Home were linked 
By chains of high celestial clink. 
Adding sweet touches to our lives. 
Inviting love for children, wives; 
Inciting a desire to live 
Much better than man primitive. 
Take from the brute and man his home, 
Life on the earth's an endless roam. 



THE MOTHER'S SOLDIER-SON. 29 



THE MOTHER'S SOLDIER-SON. 

Call the roll ! oh, call the roll ! 

The howling of the cannon's done; 
No reply from one patrol, — 

The missing one's a mother's son. 

Call the roll ! oh, call the roll ! 

Silence tolls the missing sonl. 
Call the roll ! oh, call the roll ! 

One has gone on death's parole. 

There he lies beside his gun; 

O'er his curls played wind and sun, 
Fanning locks a mother reared, — 

Picture sad without her tear. 

He so still as in sweet sleep, 
Soon his mother comes to seek. 

And she sees her only son. 

Still, so still, by death well won. 

She shrieked and fell upon his face; 
Her cries beseeched him to awake. 



30 THE BLISTERED BRAIN'S CONTAGION. 

She wept o'er him in fond embrace, — 
Her kisses seek the last words spake. 

Thus lay cold death in living arras, — 
The son the dead, the mother living. 

The mother's lips his cheeks soon warm ; 
The dead receive, but do no giving. 

The mother's living love is twined 
Around the once true love of son. 

As lifeless branches hold the vine, 
So death now holds this loving one. 

The son is put within his grave. 
The mother's tears fall on the clods. 

This tear- wet earth upon this brave 

Has quenched a thirst — shows kin to God. 



THE BLISTERED BRAIN'S CON- 
TAGION. 

A MAN of note obtains a blister on his brain ; 
Pernicious thought within infects its tender contents '. 
Both thought and study give it bad solidity 
And fertilize its barren soil with vicious virus. 



THE BLISTERED BRAIN'S CONTAGION. 31 

Which breeds and grows until it gains a lethal 

strength 
And saturates its essence with wan sophistry. 
Anon a hungry, gaunt, and evil day 
Chips off a piece and grinds it into powder. 
Which a roving, roaming atmosphere, with open 

mouth. 
Takes up with greediness its every particle. 
And has its wind to scatter it to many poles. 
Each atom falls and fruits upon a human brain 
And causes blisters receiving nurture from within, 
By thought fermenting with acquired blistered thouglit. 
All now have blistered brains from common origin ; 
The longer life they have the more the fluid contents 
Takes on a poison, permanency, and solidity. 
And all the world of fools now once agree. 
Except in some old brains so philosophical. 
Where only smallest blisters have been faintly drawn. 
Whose contents soon are driven out by solid thought 
From that old weighty mind who fibre has 
The steel of sense and sturdy independence. 
Let not the mental blisters of the prominent 
Infect your mind and steal away your own con- 
victions, 
But weave around your brain the self-created thought. 
Incased by its own ware, infections brought to naught. 



32 DECORATION DAY. 



DECORATION DAY. 

And this is memory's day for the dead soldier-braves ! 
She warms the sweetest spots among her hallowed 

nooks, 
Which aid imagination to unfurl the past, 
And adds her joy to that of happy smiling flowers ; 
And they, hand in hand, in common fellowship 
Proceed at once to graves of those we now call dead, — 
Not dead, for memory with the flowers has them 

living. 
And there memory blesses them with tears and prayers ; 
With pleasant recollections, and imagination aids 
By putting them before us as they living were; 
As we last saw them, — oh, how pleasant: 
But, oh ! how dreadful ! as we last saw them. 
Then memory prompts the loving hands to plant the 

flowers. 
And all in unison, with memory as their leader. 
Address the past for those dear souls now under sod. 
Whose lives were given for the happiness of many. 
Oh, Time! spare us their friends another year, 
Help us to think of them, to feel for them; 
Preserve the flowers, loosen well their perfumes 



THE TALE OF THE OLD OAK. 33 

Into the airy waves their souls must sail 

In hovering o'er their earthly tenements; 

This scented breath will be the untold love 

And our communication to their spirits. 

They were once of the mortal, and we yet mortal 

With memories — their only living habitat — 

This do for us and we have won the day. 



THE TALE OF THE OLD OAK. 

List! the old oak has a tale to tell, 
How the acorn in its ripeness fell, 
And the sapling son in likeness grew. 
To his aged father in a year or two. 
How the little fellow knows he's heir. 
And seeks the drippings from his father's hair. 
How the parent wafts apart his leaves 
Chanting the unsung songs made by the breeze. 
How the timid ray of shining light 
Darteth between to cheer the oaken mite. 
How the murmuring air tells tales to one, 
And sends a gentle puif to tell the son. 
How the birds the little fellow tread 
And fear the older one's coarse bowing head. 

4 



34 CUPID'S AID. 

How the trailing vines from off the earth 

Clasp the little tree of tender birth, 

Knowing the father can be gently won 

By tendrils loving, clinging to the son. 

How the spring gave him new leaves, old stems, 

But partial to the son, new leaves, new stems. 

How when the heaven is black and fiercely glares 

Upon the rushing, swift, affrighted air. 

How the son's lithe limbs must toss and groan 

And the father bends in pitying moans. 

How the winter, aged and frosty, blows 

And chills the solace of their summer glow. 

How the paling cheek of the dying son 

Is telling his fainting father his death has begun. 

How they wane till all their blush is gone, 

Then comes the draping of autumnal suns. 

How the child and parent bid adieu. 

Until the spring their happy lives renew. 



CUPID'S AID. 

Dear Cupid, come, I'll pay you well, 
And aid me with your subtle craft. 

A lovely maiden yonder dwells 
Who never leaves a lonely path. 



WHF NOTf 35 

You hover over me, perceive, 

Just as I pass this lovely Eve, 
Shoots arrows two, one in her heart 

And one in mine; thus while apart 
Breathe into each a magnet's strength 

Attracting shaft to shaft; at length 
They draw the maid much nearer me. 

Pull out your weapons, set us free, 
And as the blood from each gash flows — 

Whilst mixino; mine with hers, you sow 
Within each drop the lover's seal, 

Before the mixture well congeal. 
Heal up both wounds and stanch the loss, 

Then step aside with bow and cross. 
And shoot one arrow through our hearts, — 

A soft and soothing painless dart, — 
Then leave us thus and trip away, 

And we will sing "well done" to-day. 



WHY NOT? 



Why can it not be that we've come from a heaven, 
Through the dark and invisible way by God mapped. 
As well as that trees grow and draw up the sjlp 
And close up their flowerlets evenings at seven, — 
As comins; from heaven's no more wonder than that. 



36 GEORGE WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION. 

Why can it not be that we go up to heaven 
Through the dark and invisible way by which we 

have come, 
And leaving the body to the earth and the sun, — 
The crust that we do not have need of in heaven. 
Why not the same way, for we go as we come. 
Unconscious and breathless, insipid and done. 



GEOEGE WASHINGTON AND THE 
REVOLUTION. 

Time makes the man and man the times, — 
The times halo the man with greatness. 
And whisper of him to posterity. 
Of his great deeds and sterling fibre. 
Men of poor steel and poorer fibre 
Rebound from time's elastic hand. 
And soon lie buried in its shoals, 
Which memory in her ebb and flow 
And straying wavelets never reaches. 
George Washington, of Vernon's Mount, 
The human meteor of the States, 
Came as the lightning from his home 
And led America's strength for freedom. 
In the face of Briton's lion powers, — 



GEOROE WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION 37 

The sturdy of the colonies, 

The strong and patient in endurance, 

And stronger by their faith in God. 

What trials and bitter disappointments! 

What sorrows, deaths, impending dangers! 

When starving soldiers fell in numbers. 

And froze to death in Valley Forge; 

And as he saw their bleeding feet. 

Whilst tramping over frozen ground, 

His tears washed furrows in his heart. 

In which his soldiers' sorrows lay. 

Amid it all he was most tranquil. 

As if the angels were then whispering 

Into his ear, "Be calm, serene,^' 

And telling him that purposes 

Of God are oft mysterious. 

And travel o'er wide seas of carnage 

And sail upon the human blood. 

Propelled by cries of pain and sorrow, 

Triumphantly reaches its goal, 

Well stained by human blood and woe. 

Sustained by what? A nation's trust, 

Also the righteous cause he fought for. 

Some generals, jealous of his greatness. 

Would hurl invectives through dark ways. 

Another, when in fear of death. 

Wrote him, "Thou art both great and good." 



4^ 



38 GEORGE WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION. 

'Twas victory disturbed him most, 
For it brought with it saddened thoughts 
Of orphans, widows, tears unanswered, 
Of loving kisses sent — unkissed ; 
Of the drear hearth's low flickering flame, 
Mocking the absent one in death. 
All this pained his big noble heart, 
Which grew more mellow by its mercies. 
He sits now calmly in two heavens, 
The one of earth he left as human. 
In heaven of God he rests in splendor. 
And angels sing in rapture sweet, 
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
And Washington, America's father. 
And with him sits his faithful friends, 
Nathaniel Green and Doctor Warren, 
And Lafayette, the friend of man. 
And many others of like fame. 
Enclosed by chains of angels singing, — 
Great mortals and immortal men. 
Whilst far bencatli tlicsc great immortals. 
Far down in yawning chasms dark. 
Loud wails came from the traitor Arnold, 
Rolling and tossing on hot shekels, 
Quenching his thirst with melted gold. 
Whilst on him rain hot silver drops. 
Parches and burns, evoking shrieks. 



WHAT DOES THE CHILD SEE? 39 

Seem giving him much more than he 
Received from his base earthly barter. 
Each wail and moan is a monotone, 
And sounds as gold and gold and gold. 
King Midas comes and calls him, '^Dog, 
The river Pactolus is dry, 
Therefore thy woe will be eternal." 
Even the heart of Washington 
Does now forgive, and asks a place 
Of rest and comfort and repose. 
Thus far afflicted that one thought 
Of his own baseness dwell with him, 
And consciousness enough to feel 
The sting of sadness and remorse. 



WHAT DOES THE CHILD SEE? 

I WONDER if children can see heaven's hall. 
Before the small tongue its own words can tell ; 

As soon as the words from their lips do fall. 
Does memory rob sight of this magic spell. 

I wonder if children can often see God ? 

Before they know how to yet word their own sight ; 



40 THE EVES. 

But when the first words and thoughts on the tongue 

nod, 
They only see God as in image we might. 

I wonder if children have ever seen angels 

And knew what they were, but to no one could 
speak ; 

As soon as the mind and the lips interchanges 
This infantile memory once mute becomes bleak. 

I wonder if children have ever seen devils 
In hell, when as babes they're unable to talk; 

As soon as the mind and tongue meet on a level, 
Remembrance of childhood with words will not 
walk. 

Who knows but a child can see heaven and God, 
And see them by day and by night and in dreams; 

The mind of sweet childhood has never been trod. 
Nor word ever spoke what it sees, what it means. 



THE EYES. 



The eyes of fright and fear are still, 
And stare in almost one direction ; 

As if they were cut off from will, — 
Had severed all their old connections. 



THE EYES. 41 

Eyes of deceit, mistrust, suspicion, 

Are restless under rapid winks; 
Seem conscious of their baseful mission, 

And seek to hide behind their blinks. 

The eyes of sorrow, grief are dull, 

Woe stole the glow that spake of bliss; 

The lids half hide them in this lull, — 
A comfort and at once a kiss. 

The eyes of joy and love are bright. 

The heart spreads o'er them shining robes; 

The smile beneath reflects the light 
Let fall from off these illumed globes. 

The eyes of anger, wrath are fierce, 
And burning, glaring, firm and set; 

Seeking to cower and to pierce 
The object of their malign fret. 

The eyes of hate and scorn are queer. 
Are neither dull nor do they gleam ; 

Look down, askance, and urge the sneer. 
Which utters what they cannot beam. 

The eyes are tell-tales of the heart, 
They are the two stars of the soul ; 

Black clouds obscure them but in part, 
'Tis only death that hides the whole. 



42 METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 

When the eyes are lost and man is blind, 
The mind and soul now magnify 

And use — with memory's aid behind — 
Imagination's wondrous eye. 

The blind stare straight in one direction, 
As if they saw an only spot; 

'Tis the mind's eye at resurrection 
Among imagination's jots. 



METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 

If you have erred. 
Face it. 
Some will blame and some forgive. 
If you have done good, 
Face it. 
Some will praise and others carp. 
If you've done nothing. 
Face it, 
Some will talk and all will know it. 
Do as your conscience bids you do, 
'Tis the hand of God directing you. 



METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 43 

O God, give me one thought original, 

And crush the imitative mew. 
Put into me the powers creative 

To tell the world a something new. 

Benevolence, complacency, and fear combined, 
Do filial reverence and filial love define. 

Let some one treat another badly 

For your sake, 
This one will treat you also badly 

'Fore you wake. 

Mad fury spends herself in flowing tears. 
Just as the storm the thundering heaven relievos 
By a pouring, pelting rain. 

When mind is weary, waxing weak, 
Put work onto this man's physique; 
The body wearing, mind will rest, 
They both in end will balance best. 

To those always raking over the past to gather indiscretions 
and the exuberance of youth to flaunt before the public for vili- 
fying purposes, I should reply, — 

Angels there are none, I believe; 
Angels there were none e'er to be; 
Angel I cannot be, I grieve; 
Angel I never was, you see. 



44 METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 

IMPRESSION ON THE BIRTH OF MY FIRST CHILD. 

I see my flesh and blood in human form, 
A sprightly boy is born to me and wife, 

With whom we'll better breast old age's storm, 
With whom we hope to sweeten earthly life. 

Wait until life with us is nearly hoary, 

This verse I'll finish and complete my story. 

A gentle word will soften rage. 

Will mellow it to meekness; 
If not subdued because of age, 

Will render it to weakness. 

Dame Truth has shoulders heavily laded. 
Her enemies grow in treads of her feet; 

Dame Lie has a back so lightly weighted 
Few hate her, friends her luilf-way meet. 

The Devil says I have two horns, 

And Darwin says I had a tail, 
And angels tell me I was born; 

Now I'm on sea without a sail. 

Ofttimes a wedding is a monster little, 
With brilliant angel-head and demon-tail, 

Who coughs from out his mouth a bliss so brittle. 
And wags his tail for unseen woe and wail. 



METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 45 

Sorrow born near is burning grief, 
Its travel is from home to heart. 

But care borne from a distance far 
Is feeble as the light of stars. 

Ye lordly mansion, list! a tale. 

My house is small and narrow, 
Upon each airy atom sails 

A bliss from pith to marrow. 

Why I love you ? I'll tell you why, — 
When I first saw you something cried. 
Look, look ! Man, look ! Look with your eyes. 
My heart said ^^ right,'' my mind "good-by." 
This is it all, the only why. 

TO THE DRUNKARD. 

A wheel's affection's in its cog, 
A nobler love than yours for grog. 

Prize strength and love the beautiful. 

And always practise self-denial ; 
Add patience and be dutiful. 

And heaven will lessen all your trials. 

At five and twenty years came common sense; 
At twenty-six I thought that I could think. 
5 



46 METRICAL PHILOSOPHY. 

The latter years I found the more I knew 
My ignorance in bulk the greater grew ; 
And when I learned a thought unknown before, 
It whispered of a world of unknown more. 

A CHARACTER. 

Your wit is in your ears, 

Your sleep is in your tongue; 

If wit grows with your years, 
You'll age and yet die young. 

The story of our great men I have read. 
Of statesmen, generals, poets born and bred; 
The thought throughout my brain soon after ran, 
Moment and muscle often make the man. 

WRITTEN IN AN AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. 

To write just something in your book 
That memory quicks, 'twill be — -just look — 
My name and nothing more. 

But let a narrow mind acquire wealth, 
Till surfeit well supplant desire and greed. 
One line of thought and but one kind of needs 
Creates a dearth in thinking and in deeds. 
The void invites dire images of health. 
And breeds a valetudinarian weed. 



AN OLD OAK PRONE AND DEAD. 47 

Show me in vegetation's reign, 
Show me in life of roving brute, 

Immoral act, immodest gain; 

Show me a sin, a breach of truth. 



IMPRESSIONS ON SEEING AN OLD 
OAK PRONE AND DEAD. 

Behold this ruin ! 

Symbol of death and martyr to time. 
Proud in his youth and lithe in his prime. 

Now in his ruin. 

And now 'tis said : 

Age took his breath, and time, with his hand. 
Gave him his death and took him from land, — 

So old life fled. 

The leaf's dismay : 

Once of his head, now nestles his trunk. 
Sharing his bed, — reveres, as the monk, — 

The slow decay. 

Oh, sweet of thee : 

Shadows were thine and for it was loved. 
Shading the kine, but now it's above. 

And will shade me. 



48 I ^AW TWO LOVERS UNOBSERVED. 



I SAW TWO LOVEHS UNOB- 
SERVED. 

I SAW two lovers unobserved — 

They sat very near, 

And seemed very dear — 
Kisses and hugs were not reserved. 

After a kiss both quiet sat, 

And eying each other. 

Both trying to smother 
A something whispering this and that. 

Kisses and hugs were passed again — 

Her head on his chest. 

His eyes roll in quest 
Of eyes he knows his eyes enchain. 

They hold themselves a moment thus — 

She pinches his lips, 

Her ear he then tips — 
Their eyes close up so amorous. 

She quickly now embraces him ; 

No words were then spoken 

As silence's love's token. 
And cheek by jowl's love's cherubim. 



I SAW TWO LOVERS UNOBSERVED. 49 

They separate and sit apart; 

Both look to the floor; 

No one at the door, 
She runs and lies upon his heart. 

Their eyes are fixed, one on the one — 

He plays with her curls, 

She love ditties purls, 
Then lip to lip a canticle spun. 

They speak few words,— the tongue is still; 

Their eyes are the rills 

That music their wills, 
And make the look the tongue fulfill. 

The clock now struck the hour of one ; 

He heaves a deep sigh. 

They kiss and they nigh, 
In fond embrace to the door they run. 

They stood upon the step and talk,— 

A hand in a hand : 

To-morrow's sweet plans 
Are made to guide their dreams and walks. 

He tries to let her go and leave; 

She lisps things untold, 

He whispers and holds. 
Till seconds and minutes an hour weave. 
5* 



50 ^ TALE. 

The clock then struck the hour of two; 

They start in alarm, 

Give kisses most warm, 
And off he runs and she off too. 

They leave, and yet their hearts must beat 
A something so new, 
Which makes them both woo. 

And think each other endless sweet. 



A TALE. 



Sister, brother, listen, hear my tale! — 
A sister ordered sister from her door : 

The sister thus commanded was most frail, 
A woman of good virtue and most poor. 

I saw the act and heard the icy words, 
I saw the poor heart-broken sister leave ; 

She looked to heaven as if from God she heard 
A whisper saying, '^ I and angels grieve.'' 

She seemed bewildered, thinking it a dream ; 

She looked toward her sister, then the sky, 
Avowed she heard her own dead mother scream. 

And soon the tears were dropping from her eyes. 



A TALE. 51 

She thought, Is this my sister, my own blood, 
Or is it some strange bone, a sister made; 

Or did the demons steer this angry flood, 
Put her aside and step into her shade? 

She looked up into heaven, said she saw 

A lone white cloudlet frame her mother's face. 

So pale in sorrow as celestial law 

Permits a mother's grief for children base. 

She saw her mother's vision in her tears, 
She saw her sister's heart in coldest chill, 

She knew her mother's love brought warmth and cheer 
Enough to melt her sister's stony will. 

Heart-sore, soul-crushed, forsaken by her blood, 
And frantic, praying, ran into the woods. 

Seated beneath a willow, tears in floods 

Kiss o'er those eyes and cheeks the sister should. 

There, there, she sat beneath this lone sad tree, 
Whose mournful branches full of pity hung. 

To canopy her sorrow, whilst of glee 

The little birds above sang to their young. 

She rose and left this ever-weeping friend, 

Whose sympathetic shade had cooled her o'er; 

She laughed and cried and sang, — -it was an end 
Of reason, reason lost, — she knew no more. 



52 IVHV DOES THE OLD MAN LOOK DOWN? 

A woodman found her singing to the wilds, 
CalHng her mother in her raving wail. 

She sits in an asylum as a child, 

Nurtures her sad and oft-repeated tale. 

Remorse and sorrow could not now undo 
The icy ringlets round her sister's heart: 

She lived and had no sister left to woo. 
And colder, colder grew this frozen heart. 

Oh, brothers, love your sisters, sisters brothers, 
And children love your parents, parents child ; 

Let the gray hairs of aged fathers, mothers. 
Be mystic angels guarding the family isle. 



WHY DOES THE OLD MAN LOOK 
DOWN? 

Why does the old man look down, look down ? 
Each step how it times his nodding head. 
Ah, yes, his ambition is done, is done; 
Of goods of the world has won, has won. 
And many he loved are dead, are dead ; 
Why should he not look, look down. 



GENIUS AND MADNESS. 53 

At his mind's behest, 
That his eyes are in quest 
Of images of heaven reflected on earth? 
He looks down, he looks down. 
And hears not a sound; 
With measured trod 
His head gives a nod 
As if he but said, 
"Ah, yes,'' to the dead, 
"My time on the earth is nearly run." 



GENIUS AND MADNESS. 

They say 

That genius is to madness close allied; 

So Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, Burns, and Pope 
Were then insane and dribbled, laughed and cried, 

Though thought and wrote what ages cannot cope. 

No, no, inverse it! They the only sane 
Who saw that all the rest were truly mad. 

Although the world their genius called insane, 
'Twas saneness seeing us insanely clad. 



54 -4 RAINY NIGHT IN THE COUNTRY. 



A RAINY NIGHT IN THE COUNTRY. 

It was a lonely night most dreary, 

Darkness and silence seemed as one. 
A solemn music eased us, weary, 

The whistling from the chirper's tongue. 
Cricket was tenor to the frog. 

And the cicada sang his tune: 
All sat around as hungry progs 

United, begging back the June. 
Their symphony and harmony 

Was full of asking, full of wishing. 
Praying the night to bring the day; 

The darkness they were hacing, hissing. 
Seeking to sing the night away. 

The sky was crowded by the stars, 
A black cloud soon hid them from earth ; 

Then fell a rain from upper air, 
Earth's blessing by its heavenly birth. 

The chirping ceased, all feared to sing. 
The falling rain the stillness broke. 

The frog was hushed, the cricket's wings 
Ceased toning with its rapid strokes. 

The heavens cleared, the moon shone bright 
And showed earth blushing gratitude. 



HAPPY JOE. 55 

The breezes came that very night 
And quenched their thirsts in solitude. 

The blades of grass, the silent leaves, 
Held each a drop in fond embrace, 

As we hold friends, their absence grieved. 
Meeting and chatting face to face. 



HAPPY JOE. 

Some natures are made up of fibres, strangely easy, 

Each act and motion has a compound easy go; 
Their wants are but a few, their cares made light 
and breezy. 
They flutter through the day and welcome slee})'s 
bestow. 

And such a being was our happy Joe while braced 
In a cosey corner, leaning back, with crossed legs. 

And hand supporting chin, eyes closed, and placid face, 
And unkempt hair, — a nature made of happy dregs. 

The atmosphere about him was content and lazy. 

The vein upon his temple had a quiet beat. 
Its blood coursed up and down so easy, slow, and 
lazy, 
And pulsed a tranquil comfort to his head and 
feet. 



56 HAPPY JOE. 

He had the purest graces and the purest smiles, 
They came from out his nature as they were 
within. 

He's hampered not by laces, his ignorance and wiles 
Give him the purest faces — without and in are kin. 

Whene'er his time's uutaken by the worldly things, 
He lounges in a corner and whistles mind to sleep. 
And nods his head in dozing and gaping sweet 
dreams in. 
That whisper of the roses which blossom while he 
sleeps. 

He sleeps and sleeps; 'tis tranquil and most easy sleej); 

He has no nightly pain or never is he sleepless. 
He opes his eyes by morning but cannot see day's 
peeping, 
And be there light, his heart still wishes for more 
sleep. 

Small money has a jingle creating a sharp tingle. 

And manufactures many hundred pressing wants. 
He's restless and he's easy, and this his wishes 
mingle, 
He buys the things unneeded, — thus ends the 
mammon's taunt. 



THE LEAVES AND I. 57 

He has a queer religion, his God is queerer still, 
Believing hell and heaven were not made for him. 

He calmly thinks his God is in his nature's will; 
To this he prays and pampers and gratifies each 
whim. 

You talk to him of mysteries, of future bliss. 
He listens with his eyes and scarce-half-open ears, 

He is within surprised, but 'tis a transient kiss. 
He soon has whistled off near all, if any, fears. 

His is a nature glossy, heart and soul run smooth, 
His cares slide off as were he made of polished 
brass. 

His life is made for living, his senses made to soothe 
His being till he dies. Death is to him an alias. 



THE LEAVES AND I. 



tvi nQ 1 1 f 



I WANDERED in the woods 
And wondering what life meant 

If trees but understood 

That they gave food and scent. 



6 



58 THE LEAVES AND I. 

I sat ill study, tasted 

Some fruit so richly bloated ; 

A thought then dropped as wasted, 
I picked it up and wrote it. 

The leaves are kissing the air, 

And taking a breath. 
While the winds are sighing, ^' Prepare 
For thy coming death." 

"Many thanks," said the leaf, 
"I will not die till autumn; 

Until then spare your grief. 
Not ere then ultimatum." 

But let a leaflet die, 

Soon seared it falls below. 

Where plaintive breezes cry 
And waft it from its woe. 

Leaves nestle close to leaves. 
And gather in the hollows, 

Decaying to reprieve 

The harm done to the fallow. 

The man may fall from grace. 
The leaf may fall from stem ; 



FALLEN WOMAN. 59 

The leaf drops to its place, 
But man to a base end. 

So let the leaf then teach 

A lesson and a warning: 
If falling, God beseech 

To place you right each morning. 



FALLEN WOMAN. 

Woman, you are at times so common, — 
Common as the dirt beneath your ^QQt. 

The little blade of grass you tread on 
Retains heaven's gift, — a virtue sweet. 

When once your nature is perverted, 
It twists and turns and seeks the low. 

Just as a gentle stream converted 
Into a stream of murky flow. 

God made you to assist the man, 
To steer from evil to the good. 

When you permit base sin to land. 
You hug the devil, trust his brood. 



60 FALLEN WOMAN. 

Low woman, you seem like a pit, 

Whose space is but to catch the swill; 

With ease receive the filthy nits 
As fast as human them distil. 



If virtue, beauty, be your crown, 
Your reign is lit by heaven's gleam. 

If vilest evil you renown, 

You sail upon a demon-stream. 

O woman, when your trade is evil. 
The snares are millions you do set ; 

Euveigle the innocent and civil, 
Around them weave an iron net. 

When once within this siren web. 
The music is the most enchanting; 

The senses reel and flow and ebb 

^Tween words that can themselves do chanting. 

Dear woman, with snch strength for good. 

Near equal to the sun and light, 
That make the treelets the large woods. 

So you may make the man a might. 



TO THE IDIOTIC CHILD. Ql 



TO THE IDIOTIC CHILD. 

Dear child, why do you stare and look? 

Why are your eyes so fiercely set? 
Do you thus chide him who forsook 

Your senses to their present wreck? 

Why do you give the sudden scream? 

Why utter such a senseless sound ? 
Do you perceive sweet reason's gleam, 

And hail the glimmer in its bound? 

What means this oft and causeless laugh ? 

So silly, — but all things have cause. 
Is it a flashing thought in half 

Which puts upon your cares a pause? 

Why thrust your hands before and aft, 
As if to catch a w^eening wand? 

Do you then grapple Wisdom's staff, 
But cannot hold it in your hand ? ^ 

Dear child, why mutter to yourself 
When all is quiet in the night? 

Do you thus parley with the elf. 
Whom better senses cannot sight? 



62 TO ONE AWAITING DEATH. 

God surely has ordained it thus 
To punish parents by your care. 

In heaven you will see, and must 
Have double sense and triple fare. 

So spend your life from sorrow free, 
And let your simple thoughts be toys ; 

Chase them about in lazy dreams, 
And catch the first one like a boy. 

And make a world within your brain. 
And fill it full of happy ease ; 

Have men to feed you sugar grain. 

And winds to cool you with their breeze. 

Then you will be as sane as sense, 
And live within, others without. 

Your reason has a living fence. 

And undisturbed by fear and doubt. 



Tp ONE AWAITING DEATH. 

When you're about to die, 

Call round you those you love; 

And bid them all good-by 
Until you meet above. 



TO ONE AWAITING DEATH. g3 

You see that grand old tree, 

That waves before your door 
The ages past, maybe 

A century or more? 
'Tis old and brittle now; 

Has also soon to die ; 
Yet to those barky brows 

The winds still hail and sigh. 
Death kindly shows his blessing 

And checks the painful lull, 
Kelieves him of his dressing. 

His corpse to mould annuls. 
Thy grave will give thee to this mould, 
Through trees send greetings to thy soul. 
Immortal claims the warmth and light. 
But mortal holds the cold and night. 
So when your death is near, 
Then do not quake or fear. 
As millions died before 
And fully know death's shore. 
Not one has e'er returned 
His future state to spurn. 
They must all be well pleased. 
Have every comfort, ease. 
When near thy dying hour 
These thoughts will be the flowers 
That radiate sweet hope 



(;4 TO ONE AWAITING DEATH. 

And pave imagined slopes. 
Now look for angels' charms, 
For friends with open arms. 
If wife has gone before, 
She waits you at the door. 
If loving parents there, 
They're waiting on the stair. 
If children, sisters, brother. 
You'll find them by the mother. 
Remember when you're dying 
That men have died before, 
That ages have been crying, 
That ages have two doors : 
A door to let in babes. 
The hinges wife and man. 
A door leads to the grave, 
Admittance death commands. 
So have no fear in going 
By a well-beaten shore. 
By water, then the rowing 
Is done by angels' oars. 
If hills are rough and rugged, 
You sit on angels' wings, 
Your spirit them a hugging, 
While they your coming sing. 
And when the journey ends. 
They seat you in an air 



DECEMBER. (}5 

Of music, perfume blending, — 
You'll know that you are there. 



DECEMBER. 



O OLD December, last breath of the year, 
Thou who exhales the chills that do scar; 
Donning thy tresses and winding thy talcs 
Of the new year whom soon we shall hail. 
Snow is thy pulse and ice is thy heart, 
Bleak and cold winds thy coming impart, 
Freezing the brooklets till they must doze, 
Making the brambles hoary with snows. 
Icicles are thy dews in repose, 
Pendant and long — a purpose — who knows. 
O old December, the spot in you golden 
Is the sweet day, the Christmas of olden. 
Was your own moon that brought it to earth. 
Was your own star that told of Christ's birth, 
Was your own sun that lit up this day, 
Was your own sky beneath which it lay. 



QQ WHAT ONCE WAS LOVED, ETC. 



WHAT ONCE WAS LOVED CAN 
NEVER WELL BE HATED. 

Ten years ago I saw a young couple married. I thought they 
truly loved each other. He was as sincere and provident as she 
was improvident. Soon after the hirth of the first child the wife 
became untrue. They parted. For years after their separation 
the husband followed her, threatened her, and tortured her, even 
when the law offered him a divorce ten times. She has snubbed 
him, cuffed him, and ill-treated him as woman seldom has man, 
and still he follows her, therefore I say, — 

What once was loved can never well be hated ! 
Where pure love lived there pure hate cannot dwell. 
Love may be as the sunshine on a cloudy day, — 
The light we ever see, the dazzle may be missing. 
Let one swerve from the path of right and duty, 
They say it will engender hate. Not so! 
Hate here is feigned, — may have a tiger's fierceness. 
This is a new affection, fed and fanned 
Into existence by a spark of the old love, — 
The primitive, the first, the never-ceasing. 



SOLEMN RE VERY. 67 



HOW STRANGE. 

We are born of a mother, 
And suckle her breast; 

As we wish her and love her 
She's taken by death. 

And as once we were children, 
So we become motliers; 

Infants suckle and build them. 
We die while they love us. 

'Tis life coming and going, 
'Tis life feeding life; 

'Tis the life that is sowing 
For death and for life. 



SOLEMN REVERY. 

Just go to a quiet, lone room. 

And sit in the silence and dark, 

And think of the large oaken tree 

Beneath which in childhood, in glee. 

You've romped and have run and have played. 



g3 HOW I WANT TO DIE. 

Of the playmates, and ask where they are, 
And where are thy brothers this day, 
And sisters beside thee did pray, 
And mother who nursed thee with love? 
Your heart, sinking, lisps she's above. 
But think of them all as now dead. 
The lives of thy playmates as fled ; 
And think of these loved ones embarked. 
Forever are sailing the gloom. 
Forever they're gone from your sight, 
• Forever they're to you as night. 
And darkness envelops them all. 
Thy thoughts are now lifting thy pall. 
Thy soul is inspecting thy tomb. 



HOW I WANT TO DIE. 

I WANT to have my death most quick, most sharp, 
Without a forethought, sign, or painful warning. 

I want to fall as does the marksman's mark, 

And die as night is touched by light of morning. 

I wish to die just after a morning kiss 

From oif my wife and child, — my greatest wealth ; 

To die and leave them, but to have them miss 
The dying, lingering, and awaited death. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. (J9 

I wish to die quick, sharp, not linger long, 
Nor have the running tear nor weeping face 

Enjoyed by death ; for 'tis his only song, 
And dying, dances to its measured pace. 

I wish to die like lightning's sudden flash, 

That ends in heaven with sudden shriek and groan ; 

Not have the clouds of grief and death to dash 
Before my eyes, and pasture on my moans. 

I wish to die just in the midst of laugh. 

Whilst mirth is shepherd for my wife and I; 

To have him pierce my heart with his own staff 
Whilst laughing I may laugh until I die. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead and in my coffin lain. 
Send to those dear to me no condolence; 

But send a single rose, 'twill ease their pains. 
And cheer my bier with living redolence. 

Do not rush to them with expedient tears, 
All such the dead and silence never souglit. 

Stay from them and to spirits chatter cheer. 
For grief is best allayed in silent thought. 

7 



70 WHEN I AM DEAD. 

Those that will come in spite of protestation, 
Give me one quickened look and then away; 

More feigning glances would be molestation 
With death in silence that invites no stay. 

Wish you my family sympathy to give, 

Do not then speak my name or aught of me; 

For I am ever gone from those that live. 

Nor wish to draw their tears by thoughts of mo. 

Now I am lying far below the sod. 

And to the stones more kin than to the trees; 

I'm only fit to aid to bear your trod. 

So let your memories quickly set me free. 

I'm speaking of the earthly part of me, — 
Fm speaking of my body, not my soul. 

Which flit away upon the silvery sea. 
And drifted up to heaven in its roll. 

YouVe seen a loving rose die long ago; 

You loved it then, but had it soon forgot, 
As other roses in the summer grow 

And plant themselves in memory's vacant spot. 

So let me be forgotten as the rose; 

We both were friends, have summered and have 
posed. 



U. S. GRANT. 71 

When us you see in heaven in repose, 

You'll know me by my sitting on the rose. 



U. S. GRANT. 

A MAN of fame has given up his life, 

And left his name with laurels of true greatness. 

Humble, obscure, terse, quiet, great, and good, 

Is his biography from birth to eve. 

His well-earned glory left his life to dust, 

Which is soon blown by many, many winds 

To many, many lands and many seas. 

Where once he carried body, life, and honor. 

All like to God's own image, — there receiving 

Honor from the kings, notables, and princes. 

From all nations, classes, creed, and color. 

They now pay homage to his memory, 

And unknowingly kiss the winded mortal dust 

Which touches the immortal thought that holds 

Him in their memories. 

While Fate was weaving circumstance for Genius 

He drifted near, was woven in the meshes. 



72 EACH GIRL SHOULD HAVE A FRIEND. 



EACH GIKL SHOULD HAVE A 
FRIEND. 

Each girl should have a girl as dearest friend, 
And hold communion with her as a mother. 

Their hearts should be the mirrors that do send 
Reflections of their love upon each other. 

Their thoughts should be as sun and moon to earth, 
And light them both in happiness sublime; 

By night, apart, their thoughts should be the mirth 
Recalling light that from the day-thoughts shine. 

And when they meet, their eyes should burn and 
glow ; 

Take hand in hand, imprint a kiss on kiss. 
That each pure heart may see and feel and know 

That friendship is a love, much more a bliss. 

When sorrow's mantle cools and saddens one. 
The other comes to her with feeling soul 

To warm her heart and make the ices run. 
And bring again the beams affliction stole. 



A DAUGHTER'S CONDOLENCE TO HER FATHER. 73 

And in their sleeping dreams put each one's face 
With wooing looks upon the smiling friend ; 

And have them kissing, sleeping in embrace, 

Dreaming within these dreams that love transcends. 

Let both be seated in a silent grove, 

Beneath a canopy of matted vines; 
The singing birds, the tendrils interwove 

Are accents of this friendship so divine. 



A DAUGHTER'S CONDOLENCE TO 
HER FATHER. 

Father, grieve not that mamma's dead, 
She was your wife and our dear mother. 

Because she died it is not said 

You should leave us, me and my brother. 

We will stay with you, father dear; 

We can make home most happy yet: 
AVe will imagine mamma near, 

Her love for you ive will beget. 

Your life was s\veetened by her love; 

Your comfort spread by her own hand. 
We'll fill her place, while she's above 

As morning star of our loved band. 



74 A FRIEND'S MONOMANIA. 

Let us have bliss while we have life, — 

Imagine mamma on a visit ; 
The gentle touches of a wife 

I, your own daughter, will seek to give it. 

Therefore, again let us assemble ; 

When all together — mamma missing — 
Increase our love till it resemble 

Our former home, — us mamma kissing. 



A FRIEND'S MONOMANIA. 

O WORLD, your pardon I beg meekly ! 

O heaven, do forgive the fault! 
O angels, overlook the weakness ! 

O friends, think it Cupid's assault! 
O wife, absolve, for I love you ! 

O sister, do condone this time! 
O brother, me once more excuse ! 

O God, acquit me of this crime ! 
O Maker, thou I have to blame, 

Who shaped this lime and made the flame ; 
And wherefore ask such absolution ! 

Because — this is the strange solution — 
I love to see a pretty woman. 



THE BREATHING STAIR. 75 



THE BREATHING STAIR. 

(an allegory.) 

A PENSIVE moment drove me to the shades, 
And seated on an oak, which prone and split 

By heaven's fiery bolt in thunder made, 
To humble nature, man, inflated wits. 

Before me was a glade of circled shape. 

Surrounded by the oaks whose heads ameeting 

Turn back the light and cast the cooling shades 
Till mid-day brings the sunbeam's joyous greeting. 

My thoughts were dwelling on the stately woods, 
My eyes were taken by this beauty-spot. 

My thinking slowing for the dreams that would 
Fill up my slumbers with their many plots. 

My thoughts were running in my mind astray ; 

I ope my eyes in dreamy haziness, 
When, lo ! the space has in it, bright as day, 

A stair that heaved and breathed with livinoj breath. 



76 THE BREATHING STAIR. 

Its steps were seven, resting on a cloud 
As white as snow, and hanging in the air; 

A dark cloud capped its top as if to shroud 
A sacred spot upon this living stair. 

I sat amazed, my eyes and thoughts were dazed, 
And seemed not ridden of their sleepiness. 

I now awoke, my being in a blaze, 

I saw some wonders in their mightiness. 

The woods were filled with strains as from the lyre ; 

A babe's sweet voice seemed melodied therein ; 
When, lo ! an infant, haloed by a fire, 

Was laid upon the first step, — life begins. 

The days and minutes passed, most slowly crept, 
And let their loneliness about me fall. 

My mind, fatigued by its own weenings, slept 
Until I startled at another call. 

Upon the second step stood the little child. 

Three summers' suns seemed sparkling in his eye. 

His rosy cheek and flaxen hair curl wild 
And herald the gentle pulses in him hie. 

I napped again ; a few years fell from time ; 
Upon the third step stood a blooming youth. 



THE BREATHING STAIR. 77 

Glowing and growing, — touching the sublime, — 
The bud of manhood and the dawn of truth. 

A cloud so angered at my happy mood 
With time and me far over ten years flew. 

I looked, and firm upon the fourth step stood 
The youth who now to adolescence grew. 

'Twas nature facing fair serenity, 

And mixing sober thought and casual play. 
A subtle craft from out obscurity 

Illumes the mind with thoughts as sun the day. 

The winds were feasting in the frigid north. 
Beneath a star whose surface dripping wine; 

They drank their full and soon let out their froth, 
And blew the years so far ahead of time. 

Upon the fifth step stood the adult man ; 

The manhood, — vigor next to the divine; 
The zenith of the man as he began, 

The living monument of God's design. 

Upon his breast a little child he warms; 

Next to his right there stood the loving wife, — 
The loving links of strength and life which form 

The unseen chain that holds the earth to life. 



78 THE BREATHING STAIR. 

The morning sun began to chide the moon 

For sitting full-faced 'tween his light and me; 

Time, feeling faint from fear, fell in a swoon 
And let a span of years fall in the sea. 

Upon the sixth step stood the good old man. 
With sixty winters in his snowy hair ; 

Firm lips, set eyes, and stooped and stern as Pan, 
Keplete with reason reared on Time's rich fare. 

Within his furrowed brow pure Wisdom lay. 
And in his cool set eye bright Prudence sit; 

When Prudence slept then Wisdom lights the way, 
And Wisdom sleeping, Prudence holds the wit. 

Time now was aged and full of heavy care, 
And hastens on as do the winged winds; 

The years find in the man a ready heir. 
And trip along and claim him nearer kin. 

Upon the seventh step, waiting, weary sat 

The feeble, aged, and time-worn old, old man ; 

His dry thin hands were crossed upon a cane. 
With o'erbent head, and eyes that moisture ran. 

His hair was now not gray, but white in flocks. 
And played upon his shoulders with their curls; 



THE BREATHING STAIR. 79 

The breezes chanted through these fluted locks 
Of easing sweets we have in other worlds. 

Once smiles dwelt on these rigid, pallid lips, 
And in his eyes was housed the flashing glow ; 

They've left their home and dropped a heavy drip 
Of time that bends this aged head so low. 

Within his mind the ages were at play, 
His thoughts were grasping at futurity. 

But memory sought the past and childhood days,* 
His will was far beyond maturity. 

I heard a rolling, doleful sound, most low ; 

I saw a white cloud-ship sail into view. 
Time stood with open gates and bended bow, 

And from the shaft the final arrow drew. 

Two shaded hands then place him in this skiff, 
His head rests on the bow, — he closed his eyes; 

The stair gave one long sigh, a breezy whiff. 
Which blew this mortal cloud into the skies. 

For birth and death are gates on mountain-tops, 
And 'tween them both the human river flows. 

* I have often found in the aged that recollections of child- 
hood are more vivid than at any other time of life. 



80 POST-MORTEM TEARS. 

'Tis birth supplies this stream with liviug drops, 
And death takes up the drops that cease to flow. 



POST-MORTEM TEARS. 

Those tears shed for me after life ! 
Convert this power — grief and strength— 
Into sweet love of greatest length, 
And shed it on me while I live, 
Not when I'm dead ; nor take nor give, 
And neither kin to man or sky, — 
Then view me with the calm dry eye. 



O DAY, I SEE A GOD IN THEE! 



O DAY, I see a God in thee, 
With parts like man, and eyes to see. 
The noon thy body seems to be. 
Thy hindmost step the twilight eve, 
Thy foremost foot the twilight morn, 



DAV, I SEE A GOD IN THEE. 31 

The shining sun thy honored head, 
The clouds thy own expired breath, 
The stars thy winking argus eyes, 
Thy face must be the azure skies. 
The thunder, lightning be thy wrath, 
The mist in air thy morning bath, 
The night thy shadow just behind, 
Which lengthens in the polar clime. 
O Day, thou art the man and god 
Who has the world to light and trod. 
Most Avelcome one, most welcome sight. 
Our god, dressed in his mantle light, 
Come oft to us, thy earthly race, 
With shining eye and smiling face. 
The rain, thy tears in mourning lost. 
Bring blessings to us like the cross. 
Thy darkened mien ill humors us, 
Thy brighter hue brings happiness. 
Why not our god, O Day? You toll 
In every fibre of our souls. 
A host of bells of ill and ease, 
Of mingled bliss and dire disease. 



g2{ I SAW A LITTLE BIRD DIE. 



I SAW A LITTLE BIRD DIE. 

I ONCE saw a little bird die, — 
Die from a huntsman's shot. 

It gasped and it closed its eyes, 
Heaving its breath, and stop. 

It turned its eyes, and it gasped 
Catchingly for a new breath ; 

Its claws then dream ingly grasped 
Tendrils mistaken for death. 

And just as the little life parted, 
Struggled its body in chills. 

The hand of its death was imparting 
Ices soon after its ills. 

It lay now so quiet and still, 
Just as the human when dead ; 

Both dying, and by the same skill. 
Showing the kin to the thread. 



MAN AND ANIMAL. 83 



MAN AND ANIMAL. 

Like birds that hop from bush to bush, 
So we oft flit 'tween hope and fear, 

And lean upon the hope and wish, 
And wash despair in sorrow's tear. 

As birds do build their nests and mate, 
And love their young and sing in spring, 

Why you not imitate their state, — 
In season love, in summer sing. 

One year in song the next in love, 
Thus fill your life full of this mirth; 

As God and Son are one above, 

So song bears love and love gave song birth. 

The lion loves, defends his young; 

The sheep loves and protects the lamb. 
It is a pure love, love unsung. 

The same as is 'tween God and man. 

Do not then call the beast the brute; 

Do not then spurn the lesson taught; 
Learn words of wisdom, — be they mute, — 

Learn truth from the unspoken thought. 



84 SAF LITTLE OR NOTHING. 



WHAT WE SHOULD BE. 

Affection was the passion primal, 

And should have been the passion final, 

But for sin, — what sin I know not. 

For babes are born with feelings in a dormant state ; 

The first one to be shown is sweetest love ; 

As they join man they learn the hellish hate, — 

Reveal an imprint not brought from above. 



SAY LITTLE OR NOTHING. 

Say little or nothing 
On all great occasions, — 
A law governs that 
As every wise act : 
A comfort resulting 
Which is most exulting. 

A law governs such, 
Those saying too much ; 
The shadows within. 



MAN VARIOUS. 35 

The harm clone without, 
Hurl pain all about 
Against his own conscience, 
As if the Omniscience 
Had used his right arm 
Revenging the harm. 

How often have we been tempted 

To say this or say that, 
When sudden a whisper prompted 

To say nothing nor chat. 

He who obeys the inner whisper,' 
A guide has true as sun to vesper. 



MAN VARIOUS. 

What he has written, 

What he has said. 
Half could not live, 

Half was born dead. 

Some thoughts may have flickered 
And some may have fled, 

While others have licked 
Fame's flame until dead. 



gg GOD AND HIS CHURCH. 

His tongue wagged smoothly, 
He pleased nearly all ; 

His words were most soothing 
But pointed with gall. 

The ignorant say, 

There goes a wise man ; 

Intelligence prays 

Such learning be damned. 



TO DR C. M. B. 

You say you do not poetry love, 

Then you must much the doctors please ; 

Nor can the sweets of nature love. 
But only love what's left, — disease. 



GOD AND HIS CHURCH. 

The world's my altar and my church, 
The earth the green and solid floor. 

The sky, fair, blue, above the roof. 
My birth is made the entrance-door. 



QOD AND HIS CHURCH. 87 

My God has but one brilliant eye— 

The sun— from which He lights my day; 

When to the antipodes He flies, 

His moon must keep dark night away. 

When both His lights, the moon and sun, 

Are occupied in other zones, 
He has the twinkling stars— His sons — 

To light my nights from off His throne. 

His baptism is— at evening's seven— 
To stand beneath a pouring rain. 

And catch the sprinkle straight from heaven, 
Which cleanses me and moves ray stain. 

I daily read His holy book. 

Whose leaves are printed by His breath ; 
Its words or fields and trees and brooks. 

Where verdure grows so sweet and fresh. 

My prayer is silence and delight, 
But not a word of supplication; 

For I obey His laws aright; 

He answers me my glad sensations. 

I am so hapi)y 'cause I know 

That Nature's chapel has much bliss; 



88 TO THE INFIDEL. 

The world's a place to live and grow, 
Each taste and sip is God's own kiss. 

When sad at heart and need His aid, 
He has His ministers — the clouds — 

To gather in the azure shade 

And thunder words of God aloud. 

And when the final transmigration 
Shall carry oft* my happy soul ; 

It is no more than transportation 
From measured bliss to bliss untold. 



TO THE INFIDEL. 

You say to me there is no God 

Whose heart can pulse each living vein, 

And nurture man and beast and sod, 
And make it all from out one brain ! 

You say in God I don't believe ! 

I'll let the trees the answer give : 
Who draws the sap up to the leaves. 

Makes of them lungs to breathe and live? 



TO THE INFIDEL. 89 

You say that Nature needs no God ! 

Let me reply : Look at the sun ! 
Upon each ray His wrath is shed, 

For such as you His gaze must shun. 

No God ! no God ! you yet will say ; 

I'll let the heavens answer you; 
But let them roar, their lightning play, 

They answer me, and doubly you. 

That's Nature's God, you yet assert. 

It's partly true, and muchly missed; 
Dame Nature may be God of earth, 

Her lips made sweet by heaven's kiss. 

No God ! What mean you, common man ? 

Did all these laws, these wondrous things, 
Which you ne'er made nor understand 

Come all alone and themselves bring? 

Tell me how Nature's made: wherefrom 
All such things came? This me explain. 

Till then believe the world's God's womb 
And life the bearing of its pains. 



90 THE OLD SLAVE. 



THE OLD SLAVE. 

A TIME ia history — some years ago — 

When faction was the fashion and the passion ; 

When men of color were then sold to sow 

For beds of straw and raiment and spare rations. 

Humane they were; but not too human grow, 
For fear they might con out some mode of action ; 

To ask their God for strength and sacred unction 

To sever ever this unholy junction. 

One year before the struggle of the States, 

An old, old slave, whose back was bent with toil. 

With the one master serving to this date. 
In the same house, upon the self-same soil : 

He knew each brute, each child, the whole estate; 
He knew upon what passions to pour oil ; 

Where grass would grow, where birds would sit and 
sing; 

The heart and trait of all on feet and wings. 

One evening, as the sky hung full of clouds. 
The good old slave the master sent to school 

To bring his only child, before the loud 

And clapping thunder rained to swell the pool. 



THE OLD SLAVE. 91 

And ere he's far, lie calls to him aloud, — 

O slave, haste you ! with care cross o'er the pool ! 
The aged man with reverential bow 
Thus made the solemn and unbroken vow. 

He leaves so full of duty to his master. 
Nor lets another thought into his mind ; 

Albeit the rain was pouring fast and faster, 
The wind, it blowing, nearly made him blind. 

He pushes on regardless of disaster, 

Determined now to please the one behind. 

Here's duty, fealty in slavery born. 

Matured by age, alike by master scorned. 

He reached the blue-eyed youth of flaxen curls, 
Who, gladdened by his sight, caressed the slave; 

And he, in turn, endearing murmurs purled, 
When lifted in his arm embraces gave. 

They then each other eyed, — the youth as girl, — 
The one the lover and at once the slave. 

Here was the purest mute love Nature bore — 

They knew each other human, — nothing more. 

The thunderbolts of heaven were awake, 

And hurled their lightning far about the sky; 

Each click and crack the dampened azure shakes 
As drop the tears celestial from on high. 



92 THE OLD SLAVE. 

The son and slave were ready to betake 

Their way, despite the heaven's heavy sigh. 
So homeward bound, the slave takes in his arm 
His master's son, — to him a precious charm. 

The slave soon reached the pool, now swollen high, 
Until become a stream of rapid running; 

The wavelets kissed the banks in passing by,— 
Awakened from a dormant life of sunning. 

The quiet pool with roaring rapids vie, 

And lashes its sides to make the traveller shunning ; 

The past inviting gentleness was gone, — 

There w^as the floating foam o'er breathing yawn. 

He stood in meditation and a-gazing ; 

To cross or not to cross was in his mind. 
To stay, the night would be his master's crazing; 

To go, would be approaching danger blind. 
To go is peril, and to stay means raving, 

To choose 'tween evils is the worst to find. 
The youth from home, the father's hopeful dream,— 
This thought compels him to cross o'er the stream ! 

With prayer he seeks the old familiar stones, 
Now hid beneath the stream yet flowing swift; 

He steps from one to one, then falling prone. 
The youth from out his hands is let adrift; 



THE OLD SLAVE. 93 

And sinking, screaming, floating, and alone, 

The frightened slave swam toward him like a skiff 
With oars that thoughts of death made of his hands, 
And safely brings him, senseless, to the land. 

He quickly lifts him dripping to his arms. 

With water running from his mouth and nose; 

And ran, fleet as deer, in full alarm, 
To where his master sat in quiet repose. 

The master ran to meet them : seeing harm. 
The slave then tried the mishap to disclose: 

The father saw the son and then the slave, — 

His anger grew into a fit of rage. 

" My son ! my son ! He looks so deadly pale ! 

He moves ! In haste secure a doctor's aid ! 
He opes his eyes ! he moves his lips ! oh, hail ! 

My son will live — his breath is but a shade ! 
He speaks ! Whom does he call ? — his voice is frail — 

He calls the slave ! O slave ! he seems afraid ! 
O son, O son ! do speak and live and breathe ! 
To you my name and fortune I'll bequeath !" 

The son came to, with signs of promised life ; 

The slave stood still amid his honest tears. 
The master eyed him, — cutting as a knife; 

The slave looks down, and shook with direst fear. 
9 



94 THE OLD SLAVE. 

He spake, ^^O slave! base serf, for cold death ripe, 

Forever leave my sight, nor come too near! 
Take one last look at these, my son and soil. 
Begone ! and to a strange and endless toil !'' 

"O master. Time will fright at such a change; 
My master! this is more than I can bear. 

master! God will tell you this is strange, — 
'Tis evil for a life of loving care. 

1 now am old and gray, toil-bent and maimed, 
And have to serve and love anew elsewhere. 

I can my life to death far better yield 

Than change this love and care to other fields. 

They part. The father watches o'er his son, 
Who has regained his consciousness in part : 

Too weak to speak, sweet sleep his nature suns, 
Restores his strength and stimulates his heart: 

He sleeps and faints, the fever higher runs, 
And he in wild delirium, frantic, starts; 

He talks of water, brooks and love and waves. 

And grapples for his father and the slave. 

Through fevered lips appeared his trembling tongue, 
And mutters ^'drowaiing'^ in his dreams, — his pulse, 

With his dear life, in equal balance hung; 

Each sunk, each rose, ^tween life and death con- 
vulsed, — 



THE OLD SLAVE. 95 

For life fights death most bravely in the young, — 

As life has oft disease and death repulsed. 
The father sat by hoping, hoped and watched, 
And hoped when hope was down to the last notch. 

The sun was up and bright in early morn, 
The winds were gentle in the serious calm; 

All nature — e'en the sick — was fresh and warm. 
And wondrous changes made by light's hid balm. 

The youth looked round and takes his father's arm 
And puts the other hand within his palm : 

" O father ! let me once look at the slave, 

He rescued me, one look my life will save !" 

The father calls, " Slaves, haste to each iiill and glen ! 

Take out the fleetest mare and search each nook ! 
Upon the old slav^e my son's life depends. 

Return not till you've searched each dale and brook. 
Oh, haste! oh, haste! look in each pit and pen, 

And bring him quickly back for one more look ; 
The hate I bore him has to deep love turned ; 
Come back ! come back ! for one more look I yearn !" 

The dear old slave, when sent away by rage, 
Soon left the only earthly house he knew. 

With tearful eye he leaves his parentage. 
In his old age, to seek a home anew. 



.96 THE OLD SLAVE. 

The window of his room one look he gave, 
Where oft he sat at eve till sleepy, grew 
Watching the silent night with stars and moon 
Whose beams stole o'er his features as he crooned. 

His master's dogs attend him to the gate 
And howl their agony when driven back ; 

Next to the barn-yard, most disconsolate, 
He bid adieu to horse and cow and jack ; 

The sheep and swine e'en baa and grunt their prate, 
And fondly watch him through the fence's crack. 

The brutes in instinct have a parting love: 

The slave receives it while he looks above. 

The slave looks back, looks back and wanders on, 
He yet is standing on his master's sod; 

It seems like home although no roof it dons, 
Each path, each nook, each rivulet he's trod. 

He wanders on, now wondering and wan 

Where he will rest his limbs, where he will nod. 

To leave his master's ground means leaving home, 

Leaving what God has made to soothe, — a dome. 

He hastens to the old oak in the field, 

Where oft he ploughed and yearly planted corn. 

Whose shade recalls the many days of weal. 
The luncheon noon as herald'd by the horn. 



THE OLD SLAVE. 97 

The transport of the pipe soon after meal, 

This rapture of the past he now must mourn. 
Til is tree is once again a blessing made, 
And fans him, lone and weary, by its shade. 

He speaks: "O day! IVe seen you change to night ! 

O night! O night! I've seen you follow day! 
Oh, loving morn ! IVe seen your rosy light 

Chasing the moonless night far, far away. 
O earth ! I've tilled you by ray toil and might. 

And sweetly slept aoiong your new-mown hay ! 
To pay this life of servitude with woe 
Is far from what the laws of nature show.'^ 

He faints; his head upon his shoulder falls. 
His arms drop low and lifeless by his side. 

He closed his eyes, in weakened voice he calls, — 
" O master, dearest youth, and all, good-by !" 

His breath grew short, his features pale and pall, 
He did not hear the hunting slaves' shrill cry. 

The searching ones detect their fellow-slave, 

Addressing him, he them no answer gave. 

" Make haste, companion slaves, he seems a-dying ! 

He has few moments left, let's haste away !" 
They bore him on the mare as fleet as flying. 

And at his master's feet unconscious lay. 

9* 



98 THE OLD SLAVE. 

He speaks, with breath in struggles and a-sighing, — 
"I hear familiar voices, kind things say!'' 

^' Good slave," the master says, " forgive ; give one 
More look, but one more look, on my dear son.'' 

" Bear me in haste ; I have but one more breath ; 

I wish to see once more this dearest boy !" 
They lift him quickly, less in life than death. 

He sees the youth, and kisses him in joy. 
He looks and looks and gasps, and then he saith, — 

*^ O master, pardon me, I love this boy !" 
These were the last words spoken, life had flown, 
The youth recovers, and all is atoned. 

Within the clover-field they dug a grave 

And reverentially laid him at rest. 
The leaflets o'er his body sing and wave 

The songs of freedom to the winds of West. 
The lofty oak stood by his lonely grave. 

Primeval monument of nameless deaths, 
Waving his shadows o'er his silent tomb, 
Shielding the blossoms in their vernal bloom. 



MF MOTHER'S MISSING. 99 



MY MOTHER'S MISSING. 

When I came home, after years away, 

And lifted the latch of the old front gate, 
She did not rush out on that same day, 

Nor came all the kisses I there await. 
But silence in coldness seemed a lisping 

A whisper, whisper that she's missing, 
That spirits are kissing, kissing the missing,— 

The one was missing that I was wishing. 

I entered the old, once happy room, 

And sat again in her own arm-chair; 
And there the stillness spread a gloom. 

And all seemed haloed with a care; 
While something whispered, Missing, missing, 

And every face was wishing, wishing 
The one the spirits are kissing, kissing, — 

The hush but meant she's 

When seated at the table, all. 

Where her sweet presence seemed our God, 
Our longing, looking nearly called. 

And feigned her coming, heard her trod; 



100 MF MOTHER'S MISSING. 

But 'twas her spirit us a-kissing 

And whispering that she is a- missing, 

And spirits are her kissing, kissing, 

And told us that she's missing, missing. 

Next to the kitchen I then go 

And peep into the open door; 
The room was just as long ago, 

The cat was still upon the floor. 
The kettle was a-hissing, hissing, 

Why not a spirit saying, Missing? 
The cat in purring seemed a-wishing 

And calling back the one a-missing. 

In haste I rush into the yard, 

And there's the oak and apple-tree 
Whose shade would often cool and guard 

Her love which there was shading me. 
But now the winds are lisping, lisping, 

The shades to the leaves are nodding, whisp'ring 
That she is with the spirits kissing; 

And s])irits whisper that she's missing. 

The way leads to the flower-house, 
The seat she sat in was still there. 

From out a corner came a mouse. 

Gray-haired and sorrowed from despair. 



Mr MOTHER'S MISSING. IQl 

He felt her love, now feels it missing, 

He seeks among the roses, wishing 
To learn if she the bud is kissing, 

But knows not she's with spirits, missing. 

I to the barn in sadness go. 

And there's the cow and old horse Jack ; 
They hung their heads as if in woe, 

And asking when will she be back. 
The cow soon lowed, the spirit kissing, 

The horse he neighed, the spirit missing. 
Their eyes then met as if a-wishing 

To know wherefore she is a-missing. 

O God! for life I thank not Thee, 

Nor earth for all to me you've been ; 
If after life I do not see 

My mother's love and soul again. 
For in my visits to my home 

There's something fills the air with moans, 
As if 'twere whispering she is missing, 

As if 'twere some one wishing, wishing. 
As if it told of spirits kissing. 

Of kissing one that's whispered missing. 



102 WEALTH. 



WEALTH. 

Oh, give me back my early clays! 
Oh, give me back my simple ways ! 
When I was poor and had few wants, 
And not disturbed by Mammon's taunts! 
Ha ! sleep was sleep, the sleep of one long night ! 
And waking was the hour of my delight. 
I whistled and I sang 
With comrades in a gang, 
With poverty to keep our stomachs longing ! 
Dyspeptic now, 
With frowning brow. 
And careworn face 
Because the chase 
Has been for gold, for gold. 
And therefore I am early old. 
Death mocks me, makes a pedestal of me, 
And has my coffers as monument to folly. 
Oh, take my massive wealth and give me hands 
And head and health unfettered by such bands. 



TO AN UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER. |03 



RECLUSION. 

I HAVE labored, I have toiled, 
I am weary, I am tired; 
Let me in the little room, 
Free from trespass, free from noise. 
Where the world cannot peep in, 
Nor the earth's disturbing din ; 
There it is I rest my bones, 
There it is I find my home. 



TO AN UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER. 

Here lies in groans, near death, diseased, 
The only mother that could bear thee; 

Thy heart of adamant doth freeze 

The only eyes and love that heir thee. 

Recall, O daughter, all her care, 

Anxiety, and love for you ; 
Recall those sleepless nights, — despair. 

The weariness in which love grew. 



104 TO AN UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER. 

O daughter, look ! your mother's dying, — 
Now quiver lips and shed a tear; 

Quick ! turn your head, and while each eying 
Her sight may leave on your last tear. 

Your mother's dead, her breath is gone; 

No trembling lip nor dropping tear, 
Not e'en a look to light her down, 

Nor came you only one step near. 

Thou wretched daughter, ingrate, knave. 
Could but thy mother's womb the gape 

And to thy antenatal grave 

Hurl thee, thy soul, thy very make ! 

Ungrateful daughter, wretched siren. 
Who suckled from the mother's breast 

A nurture that should now be virus 
To breed within thee vilest pests. 

O female reptile, once a daugiiter. 
Receiving kisses from a mother. 

Could they forever still your laughi^er 
And take your eyes one from the other. 

O Juno, with a Judas' cowl ! 

Could you not see your mother's smile? 



TO AN UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER. 105 

Which, placed beside your hateful scowl, 
Would be a heaven and hell in file. 

Most ugly pest in human form, 

Why, I believe 'twas God's mistake 

That you should ever have been born, 
Which to undo your love he takes. 

She-devil, you to be on earth 

And in a mother's heart to dwell ! 

It was intended at your birth 
To bear you in the pits of hell. 

Go now, no love to give or take; 

Go! front the snapping mad-dog's snare; 
Go ! lie beside the venomed snake, 

Your nature's fitted for such parle. 

Go! let the bull with his sharp horns 
Gore you till hellish blood dotli flow. 

Go ! go ! and do not be alarmed, 
For death's ashamed of one so low. 

Go! do not die, the grave will quake 

Receiving such a stinken morse. 
The ground and sod'll together shake 

To rid themselves of your mean corse. 
10 



106 MENTIS PURGATORIUS. 

Go, wander into savage life ! 

To brute or tree you are no kin ; 
Go to an earth of endless strife! 

You're not one of tlie world you're in ! 



MENTIS PURGATORIUS. 

Had I the powers omnipotent, 
I'd take the many human minds 

And mould them in an element 
Elastic, single, and divine. 

Now, all the human minds in one, 

I'd cull those having too much passion ; 

Those of a jealous eye expunge, 

And drop those lost too much in fashion. 

I'd sever those of too much grief, 

Insane or melancholia's lot; 
Take out this rot and leave the sheaf 

With purer grain, without a blot. 

Those of despair, the cringing low, 
The lazy, and those full of fear. 

The greedy, and the very slow 

From out this mass I'd quickly shear. 



MENTIS PUROATORIUS. 107 

Those liaving anger, having hate, 
Those having fnry, rage, and wrath, 

Vd cleave away so adequate 
As not to leave an aftermath. 

I'd sieve this single massive brain 

So as to catch the pebble-ills; 
Then flail away the tainted grain, 

And leave the healthy, manly wills. 

And after cleansing, sifting well. 

To separate the bad from good, 
I'd magnify each fibre, cell, 

To find the whit my search withstood. 

Now with a pure and spotless mind. 
Of self-esteem, joy, hope, and love; 

Of courage, calmness, pity, kind, 

I'd make the earth like heaven above. 

I'd blow my breath on this mind-mass, 

And scatter every atom far, 
To people earth with a pure class, 

Free from the lower passions' mar. 



108 OBSCURITY 



OBSCURITY. 

My mind is clear, my heart is strong, 
My days are tranquil, nights serene, 

My conscience free from wonted wrong. 
My life is happiness — unseen. 

My little home is in the vale, 

Most hid among the hills and woods; 

But sunshine's rays 'tween leaflets trail. 
To tell us God is with the good. 

A wife and child, a loving home, — 
Sweet facts unknown beyond my gate; 

A heaven and angels where I roam, — 
A paradise on earth's estate. 

Kot many come within this dome, 
Because the humble, lowly hall ; 
But those that come will see a Rome 
In happiness before its fall. 

The garden has an oaken tree. 

Which aged before our humble shed ; 

He plays his part in our pure glee. 
And shades us with his fanning head. 



OBSCURITY, 109 

My walks among tlie crowded throng 

Is not disturbed by staring eyes; 
I claim from no one praise or song, — 

Untrammelled am I as the skies. 

I have but one, a most dear friend, 
He has within him heaven's clay; 

If friendship were just now to lend, 
A king would for him dearly pay. 

I have a horse, a dog, a cow, 

That slight a goddess for myself; 

They love me, which they oft avow ; 
They love and know a no-one-else. 

And in obscurity I seem 

Quite to the world but little known ; 
An angel whispered in a dream. 

Here heaven's grain in earth is sown. 

O ye, who follow wealth and fame! 

Ye are like troublous water-falls; 
Ye cataracts in human name ! 

Your rest is in the funeral pall ! 



10* 



IIQ TO R. M. 



TO U. M. 

Written to R. M. on rtu'oiving u letter comiilainiiig ol' li 
euros und perplexities. 

Worry and care arc; evils 

That must exist, as air; 
And be with man coeval, 

To he of hliss a sliarc. 

If sorrow's icy hand 

Be hiid upon your heart, 
The holder, bolder stand. 

And time will heal the smart. 

'Tis (;are that strains the soul, 

])ark'ens its inmost room, 
l>reathin«5 a something; dole. 

Causing- a death-like oloom, 

So 'tis a [)art of me, 

And 'tis a part of all ; 
Why should you then be free? 

When it the whole enthrall. 



THE TWO DOCTORS. Ill 



THE TWO DOCTOllS. 

Beneath an elm repaired two busy men, 
Both versed in knowledge Esculapian. 
Men of like age, with pomp and pride, 
One rural, the other in the town resides. 
We are, said one, the sequels of one mind. 
Withal pursue our trade in different climes. 
Now list ! you cite the beauties of your place, 
I'll show the many sides of a mongrel race. 

THE RURAL DOCTOR. 

Of the country I shall sing. 

Of the open space around, 
Where Dame Nature on her wings 

Spreads her verdure o'er the ground. 

I oft see Nature acting well, 

Command the elements to tell 

Their story to the quiet skies. 

The air was filled with plaintive cries,— 

My tale, list, of a nightly storm. 

When matter acts as living form. 



112 THE TWO DOCTORS. 

The night was rolled in deepest dark, 

The moon and stars from sight embarked, 

Because the friendly sky is hid 

By a scowling, rambling, cloudy lid ; 

And soon we have a groaning roar, 

As if the sky his mask deplores, 

And angry, starts his wrathful gun, — 

His rolling, rumbling, thunder spun, — 

His cannon peal forth lightning spikes. 

The dusky cowl in fierceness strikes. 

The crashing, short-lived fiery light 

On placid earth the human fright. 

The ebbing sound dies in a lull. 

Sweet and redeeming, — fiiwning null, — 

When, lo ! repentance in the cannonier 

Caused him to weep a flood of limpid tears. 

To beg forgiveness for his ugly mood. 

To change to penitence his mien so rude. 

The water-beads of heaven in numbers chime 

In airy flight to patter-begging rhymes ; 

And when the droj^s in many thousands meet 

On earth's broad surface, forming liquid sheets. 

Upon the brow of this new, transient sea. 

Alight and hop about in running glee 

The many little dancing watery bees. 

The night from troubled dreams awakes, 

His leave with heavy head he takes. 



THE TWO DOCTORS. 113 

The clatter ceased, and all again was hushed ; 

The sky unmasked, — something caused this rush : 

It was the sun, upon whose topmost rays 

Exalted sat his Queen, — the grand old day. 

He stately came, with meteoric beam 

Some knowledge of this noisy world to gleam. 

The heaven's scowling face he gilds with light, 

And chased the warring cloudlets from his sight. 

Old Sol himself soon on the scene appears. 

And sends his golden beam to cheer our sphere ; 

And flushing vegetation's shining green 

Is grateful nature's glowing, thankful mien. 

Now all is still, and in the noiseless toil 

Is matter born and bearing from the soil. 

The morning — maiden of the day — is mine. 
Glossed by the cooling dew, — Dame Nature's wine. 
The chanting birds in their auroral songs 
Sing loud, halloo! all this4o you belongs! 
Mantled with incense from her flowery home. 
The goddess Flora flaunts, where'er she roams, 
A pleasure and delight; at early dawn 
She skips about on dewdrops in the lawn, 
Spreading her perfumes with a liberal hand, 
And sipping nectar from her blooming land. 

Some days, when in the fields I ride along, 
I see the heads of grain in waving throngs — 



114 THE TWO DOCTORS. 

By airy sways to this obeisance drove — 
Bowing to me, as if they kindly strove 
To reverence my passing by their homage. 

In early day — a beauty I avow — 
When twilight lingers on the hilFs dim brow 
Whose tree-tops waving by the breeze of dawn 
Seem fanning in the coming rosy morn. 

O sir! can you a prettier picture show 

Of woods and country, when the falling snow, 

Alighting lazily, the many flakes 

Which robe the earth in white, and tranquil make 

The acts and air of winter — lulling lake — 

And all the naked trees are falsely aged. 

And moan beneath this fleeting, hoary sage? 

Let us be friends, for we are but human; 

Let us be friends; we have but one God. 
Why not? for death will some day consume us, — 

Friendless while here, are strangers to God. 

THE CITY DOCTOR. 

I love to live and be 
In the waving, surging sea 
Of billowing souls, 
Emotional tolls 



THE TWO DOCTORS. II5 

Of passion and praises, 
Love and its phases : 
And bask in the sheen 
Of affection's sweet mien. 

To know the human well, and in his place, 
Go to the busy, crowded populace, 
And study men in one large blended face. 
When one too oft sees man as a born elf. 
He views reflections of his conceited self, 
But find man noble, and with tiny flaw, 
The finder's eyes see heart through natural law, 
And knows not his own virtue nor his worth. 

I think I read in some men's face, — 
Between the lines this wording trace: 
My life has been one long sad break. 
Whose alpha brought the quivering lip;* 
The senses drank the sensual sip. 
Omega bears the burning tear, — 
The mourning dewdrop for the bier 
Which carries me to thee, O Death ! 
Embosomed well within thy grave, — 
Where else to find the rest I crave. 

*" Whose alpha brought the quivering lip" has reference 
to the new-born infant; just prior to taking the first inspira- 
tion there is a quiver of the lips. 



J. 



/1*v 



IIQ THE TWO DOCTORS. 

When my old temper leaves his cell 
To swim in burning, boiling blood, 

He's full of murder, murder, hell. 
And fire enough to heat a flood. 

But send him back to his damp cell, 
Then reason rules, and all is well. 

Let love but nestle in my soul 

And breathe her sweetness to my thoughts, 

'Tis then *ie- amiable and sought. 

Forget, forgive, all insults old. 

But here comes hate with shrivelled face, 

Imagination poised awry. 
And spreads her hazy vapors base. 

Before Love's clear and bright blue eyes. 

Love calls to hate, "Do leave me! 

I'm sunlit, and see all things bright." 
Hate says to love, "Deceived be! 

I'm moonlit, and see things by night; 
And love, I now will tickle you; 

Let some one do you a great wrong; 
I'll sit by you and hate them through. 

You'll smile because I sing your song." 



DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY'S MOTHER. II7 



DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY^S 
MOTHER. 

An evening in November 

My bell rang loud and long; 
^Twas cold, I well remember, 

The winds were wild and strong. 
A little boy, so pale and weary, 
Asked me, in accents dole and dreary, — 
'^ Doctor, will you come to see my mother. 

Who is ill? 
Come most quickly, as she seems to smother. 
If you will ? 
Come to Bank Street, number six, 
In the court that is betwixt. 
Thence to the right. 
When I, in sight. 
Will lead you back where mamma's sick; 
Come quick, doctor, come!'' 

I promised ; and he brightened ; 

To tell it, homeward run ; 
His mother how it lightened 

To know the doctor comes. 
11 



118 DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY'S MOTHER. 

I found a little dingy room, — 
A burning taper cheer the gloom : 
In the corner stood a lone straw bed. 

On which lay, 
111 and pale and weak, the mothers head. 
Hair most gray! 
Bid me welcome with a nod. 
Smiling thanks, and looked to God. 
Near, on a box, 
With silvery locks, 
Sat in delight the boy, as if he said, — 
All's well, the doctor's come! 

Her sunken cheeks and eyes. 

Her pulseless, pale, thin hands. 
Her shortened breath and sighs, — 
The shades of other lands, — 
Were fastly creeping o'er this soul, 
As she in whispers faintly told 
Of disease and poverty and pain. 

Of her death ; 
How she struggled night and day in vain, 
With short breath ; 
How her little boy would beg. 
Work, and walk with weakened leg 
Until the night 
Would him affright, 



DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY'S MOTHER. 119 
And home he came and brought her crusts of bread! 



*^ To-morrow, doctor, come 



9" 



I gave her tincture plain, 

In leaves of poppy steeped. 
To ease her many pains 

And lull her into sleep. 
I cheered her, bid adieu to leave; 
The little boy, with tattered sleeve. 
Asked me, " Sir, will mother soon get well ? 

Will she soon?" 
Words were wanting what the thoughts foretell,— 
Dead by noon ! 
''Sir, this door the hinges lack, 
Carpets, rags are in the cracks 
To keep cold winds 
From blowing in 
And chill the old-time glow your call brought back, 
To-morrow, early, come." 

My thoughts, weighed down with sorrow, 

Bore heavy on my heart, 
For they told of to-morrow 

When son and mother part. 
Of how the little boy will grieve 
When he his mother dead perceives. 



120 DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY'S MOTHER. 

How he smiled, and with confidiDg eye 

Looked at me, 
Thinking I had gifts divine and high, — 

Blameless me ! — 
Feeling I could save the dying. 
Only by my presence trying. 

Sweet childhood's dreams ! 

God will redeem 
Your mother, for he heard your praying cry ; 

To-morrow, early, come! 

A morning in November 

My bell rang loud and long ; 
'Twas cold, I well remember, 

The winds were wild and strong. 
A little boy, pale in alarm. 
Asked me, in accents quick and warm, — 
"Doctor, do come, quickly, see my mother. 

She's so sick ! 
Talking wikl, as if she soon must smother. 
Do come, quick? 
I will run ahead and tell her 
You are coming, which will quell her !" 
I went as flown 
And heard the moans, 
" O doctor ! mother's cold and quiet, tell her 
That you are here, have come !" 



DEATH OF THE LITTLE BOY'S MOTHER. 121 

I found her warm in death, 

With face turned toward her boy ; 
The smile of her last breath 

Death took from life's employ. 
It was the wordless message sent, 
The last "good-by" the lips gave vent. 
"Doctor, why does mamma seem so still? 

Is she dead?" 
Terror-struck he waited in a chill. 
" Yes,'' I said. 
And sobbing, laid his little head 
Within her hand, upon the bed ; 
" Oh, my dear mother ! 
Oh, my dear mother ! 
O doctor, help my mother, if you will ! 

Oh, help her, help her, come?" 

O God, Thy hand must be 

In this sad act, amain ! 
Keverse this. Thy decree. 

Which would seem more humane. 
Whom should I chide? whom should I blame? 
A soul from suffering is reclaimed. 
Child, w^eep on, thy tears God made to flow 

Drops for love. 
Poor soul is to soul as rain its bow, 
One above 

11* 



•199 THE HUMAN SKULL. 

Id many-colored splendor glows, 
While shining rain drops far below, 

Sink into earth 

Incite a mirth ; 
So, child, to-morrow dry thy tears and grow 

Useful, a doctor comes ! 



THE HUMAN SKULL. 

Behold this ruin ; 'twas a skull. 
Once of ethereal spirit full ; 
This narrow cell was life's retreat. 
This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot. 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot? 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear 
Have left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye. 

But start not at the dismal void ; 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But through the dews of kindness beamed. 



THE HUMAN SKULL. 123 

That eye shall be forever bright 
Where stars and sun are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; 

If falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And when it could not praise, was chained ; 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke. 

This silent tongue shall plead for thee. 

When Time unveils eternity. 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine? 
Or with the envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem 
Can little now avail to them ; 
But if the page of truth they sought 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, 
These hands a richer need shall claim 
Than all that wait on wealth or fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod. 

These feet the path of duty trod ; 

If from the bowers of ease they fled 

To seek affliction's humble shed ; 

If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned. 

And home to virtue's cot returned. 



124 HOME AND PAPA. 

These feet with angePs wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 

The above lines were found, years ago, near a skeleton of 
remarkable symmetry of form, in the museum of the Eoyal 
College of Surgeons, Lincoln's Inn, London. The author is 
unknown, though every eflPort was made to find him. I pub- 
lish it with this collection to redeem it from its vagrant life. 



HOME AND PAPA.* 

In our own home there's some one good and great,- 
In other homes he's sometimes hell and hate, — 
His smile is happiness, his presence gold, 
Commands with gentle eyes and lips are told. 
He's not a lord, a king, or senator. 
But our own dear and loving, kind papa. 

In our own home we have a crownless king, 
His kingdom's rich, with bliss it to r.s brings. 
His throne is in our hearts, he sits and lords 
Our souls by his, with sweet and gentle cords ; 

* Written when a youth. 



HOME AND PAPA. 125 

And when he goes along no one applauds, 
Because he is our humble, kind papa. 

Our palace is our home, the hearth the court, 
'Tis there the king and subjects oft resort. 
His sceptre's love, with which he rules us all ; 
His kindness us in bondage firm enthralls, 
And rules us as a monarch with eclat,— 
This sovereign is our humble, kind papa. 

Our money's love, and this we interchange, 

For ours he gives a kiss, we give the same. 

Our diamonds are our thoughts, which strive to plccisc, 

And give each one much happiness and ease: 

Our ornaments we from each other draw. 

We give and get from our own dear papa. 

Each father is a king, — even born so low, — 
His hut between the hills is his chateau; 
His children are his subjects, them he rules ; 
His throne is in their hearts, his heart the tool 
With w^hich he sways them all for good or bad, — 
Oh, what great power is in a good papa ! 



126 LOOK AT MY NEW DRESS. 



LOOK AT MY NEW DRESS. 

The voice came from a narrow street 
Where squalor, poverty oppressed ; 

This call me most familiar greets : 
^'O doctor, look at ray new dress!" 

I turned, and knew the little soul, 

Who laid so ill the raany weeks 
And bore her pains as men of old ; 

But now was well, with rosy cheeks. 

That look of gratitude and pride; 

Why, thanks stood in her eyes aglow. 
And reverence, — but this aside, — 

A heart contented overflows. 

Her dress of silk was faded, old, 

And hung so neatly round her limbs; 

The cut was not a modiste's mould, — 
That joyful face gave it the trim. 

While object of this shy esteem, 

I said, ^'Dear child, you're well and gay?" 
"Yes, doctor, yes, most well J seem, 

I see you pass by every day !" 



MORAL ANALYSIS. 127 

And as to Siinday-scliool she sped 
She met a classmate, young and fair, 

And, pointing back at me, she said, 

" You see, there goes our doctor, there !" 

child, thy innocence is sweetness; 

Dear child, thy frankness is from God; 
Sweet child, could but thy charming meekness 

And trust be on thy adult shod. 

Be happy, cliild, 'tis heaven's wish 

To have thee youthful, gay, and true; 

To have thy smile, but chase and kiss 
Tlie tear-drop as the sun the dew. 



MORAL ANALYSIS. 

Small stature, slight, thin lips, and flat, straight h; 
Words sharp and fitting, eyes which gently glare 
Looks at you when she speaks, is agile, smooth, 
Has a clean house, and children are clean too. 

Is small and stout and flabby, with thick lips ; 
Is fair, and slow in motion, thick in speech; 
Most dull and sleepy eyes, and tired look, 
Has house unclean and children much forsook. 



128 MORAL ANALYSIS. 

Long, lean, and lank, skin clinging close to bone, 
Head broad, face wrinkled, eyes of tender tone ; 
Words full of meaning, truth, and measured, slow. 
Smile limited but honest, as Ave know 
Her, plain and practical in her own strife. 
Of such is made this frugal, clean housewife. 

Small bodies, narrow heads, sharp features, dark. 

Are snappish, quick, verbose, and sweet as larks ; 

Are most exact and in their persons neat 

Are querulous, inquisitive ; deceit 

Is art to them, for they are pleasant, smiling, 

And make a business of their love and liking; 

Are praying, preaching, whose finale is hating; 

Are paragons, their souls a violating; 

Are meddlesome and busy and most prying. 

Whose filthy houses know no purifying. 

May be all sizes, but her hair is red. 
Face red and gloAving, freckles o'er it spread. 
Eyes bright and wide awake, while tongue is apt 
And lips firm-set and ready for a snap; 
To aid her hate whose essence she controls. 
To smile her love whose pith is in her soul ; 
She flashes fire when it a fire must be, 
And is humane to a God-like degree. 



A SOLID FACT. 129 

Her house is neat and order is the rule, 
Her husband shy, the children trim for school, 
And all in peace must to her laws conform. 
And she the ruler, inexorable and firm. 

Young man, when you a lady seek to wed. 
Choose such an one who has a broad forehead, 
They^re clean, have sense, and make the best of wives. 

Young man, when looking for a wife, avow 
You will avoid those having narrow brows ; 
They're peevish dolls that can most well decoy. 
Lack good old sense, and make the best of toys. 



A SOLID FACT. 

When parents depend upon children for care and for 

love and support. 
You ask my experience, which ? if the daughters or 

sons are the best ? 
My answer would be that IM choose, not from palace, 

the royal, or court, 
But from the most lowly, the daughter, who stands 

above son in the test. 
12 



130 WHV SHOULD THERE BE FAIN? 



THE SOUL. 

The soul is divinely related 

By conscience, which links it to God ; 
Unerring for right it dictated, — 

Who claims such a gift but a God. 



WHY SHOULD THERE BE PAIN? 

Why should there be pain? 
Why must there be ills? 
Why death and the tear? 
These links of life's chain 
Were made for man's will, 
To nurture his fear, 
And teach him that change 
In feelings endear 
Old pleasures again. 
Ah ! death is one bliss, 
The quiet, cold kiss, 



THE SONG OF THE EVENING BELLS. Igl 
The summit of love. 



The toll from above. 
For life and its love 
Is the source of all bliss. 
Divorce them, — then woe, — 
Divorce them, — I fear ! 
Love's ebb with life's flow, 
Left death and the tear. 



THE SONG OF THE EVENING 
BELLS. 

When the bells toll in the evening, 
When the bells roll through the evening 

Alarum, alarum ! 
'Tis the dong of the metal repeating 
An old song of the world, Come to meeting ! 

Alarum, alarum ! 
Calling souls to the altar, receiving 
Love and grace to all those so believing. 

Alarum, alarum ! 
Ding, dong was the song. 
Come, children, do come ! 

Alarum, alarum ! 



132 THE SONG OF THE EVENING BELLS. 

Come, come, come^ come ! 
Ding, dong, ding, dong! 

Alarum ! 
Ding, dong ! 

D-o-n-g! 

D-o-n-g ! 

As the bells toll in the evening, 

As the bells roll through the evening 

Alarum, alarum ! 
Seems to sing in its song we are grieving ! 
Seems to ring to the throng a soul is leaving! 

Alarum, alarum ! 
Warning men that life's sins are deceiving ! 
Telling them that in death there's no retrieving ! 
Alarum, alarum ! 
Ding, dong was the song ! 
One soul has now gone ! 
Alarum, alarum ! 
Gone, gone, gone, gone ! 
Ding, dong, ding, dong ! 
Alarum ! 
Gone, gone ! 
G-o-n-e ! 
G-o-n-e ! 



INTROSPECTION. I33 



INTROSPECTION. 

Who has not oft in thinking of his past 
Recalled some deed, some little crime, or rash 
And brazen act, or impure thought of youth, 
But felt the burning blush of shame, forsooth, 
As if his conscience, adept in the choosing, 
Had heat his guilt and stamped it on his musing. 



THE END. 







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